


be my fire in the cold (and I'll be waiting by the mistletoe)

by echoes_of_realities



Category: Glee
Genre: (and also too lazy to do so but that's beside the point), (and like the Minor-est of Soft Angst), Alternate Universe, Christmas, F/F, Fluff, The Nutcracker, Theatre, also Kinda a slow burn too, also basically every other main character is mentioned or has a Minor Role, but I'm not tagging them all because I'm not That Guy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-01
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:49:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 105,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16769062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/echoes_of_realities/pseuds/echoes_of_realities
Summary: When the production stage manager for George Balanchine’sThe Nutcracker, starring one Brittany S. Pierce, is fired seven shows into its run, Santana is hired and thrown into the production with barely any preparation.





	1. how were we to know?

**Author's Note:**

> If you follow me on tumblr, you might remember that little something for Christmas I mentioned back in November? Yeah, this is that. And the “little” is actually a 25 chapter fit I’ve been working on since October. This is why I haven’t posted anything for so long, because I’ve been working on this since then. I didn’t want to say anything until I knew for sure that I’d be able to finish it, but here it is! I’ll be posting one chapter a day until Christmas, hopefully around the same time everyday but I can’t guarantee that for sure lol. 
> 
> If you have any questions about the technical terms in the theatre just ask and I’ll try my best to answer! Obviously not everything will be perfect since most of my theatre experience is from the pit band and what I’ve learned from Broadway videos, but artistic liberties and all that. 
> 
> Cross-posted to Tumblr and ao3.
> 
> All the chapter titles come from "Smile at Snow" by dodie.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana gets thrown in the deep end with only her prompt book to hold onto; the Sugar Plum Fairy bangs her own shoes.

“Simpatico, it’s Italian for ‘sympathetic.’ Hearts beating to the same pulse. That’s what music does for one, you know—I mean, for two. For more. It trains hearts to lean in the same direction. Sympathetically.”  ―  Gregory Maguire, _Hiddensee: A Tale of the Once and Future Nutcracker_

* * *

When Santana accepted the job offer as production stage manager for _The Nutcracker_ , a prestigious and professional production, she didn’t really think that she was going to be thrown right in the deep end; she assumed that the old production stage manager was taking a leave of absence and she would be able to shadow him for a couple days, not that he had been unexpectedly fired on Friday morning and that she would be shadowing the assistant stage manager for two shows on Saturday and running her first one by the Sunday matinee.

And yet, here she is, dodging half dressed dancers and props bigger than she is, only two hours before the matinee, trailing after two blonde women who are frantically talking on their phones, occasionally exchanging them before resuming their frantic conversations. Usually Santana thrives on the organized chaos of a production, but she can do little more than duck under stretching limbs and just _try_ to keep track of the flashes of blonde ahead of her.

It’s not that she’s overwhelmed, per se, she’s done other ballets and she’s done Broadway, she’s done community theatre and she’s done a short stint for an opera, she’s done touring companies and she’s done Off-Broadway, she’s even done a couple other productions of _The Nutcracker_ itself; she’s been working as a stage manager for years, and she’s damn good at her job. It’s just, usually she has weeks or months of rehearsals before a show begins; at the very least, she usually gets to meet the rest of the stage management team before she’s thrown in the deep-end for the first show. 

Holly and Quinn, the director and the assistant stage manager, eventually make it to the call desk, a tiny little alcove just off stage right, with monitors on the front of the stage and the pit. There’s a man in a wheelchair already squished in the tiny space, his glasses slipping down his nose, staring intently at the screen and muttering into his headset.

“Artie,” Quinn greets, and the man offers her a half-hearted salute. “Artie,” Quinn repeats, waiting until the man finally glances up before she gestures to Santana, “This is Santana Lopez, the new production stage manager.”

Artie blinks and offers her a grin, reaching over to shake Santana’s hand, almost running over Holly’s foot in the tiny space. “Nice to meet you,” he says, “Your resume is a mile long.”

Santana shrugs as she shakes his hand; it’s a little clammy and she wipes her hand on her black jeans as subtly as she can as leans back. “It kinda has to be to land this job.”

Artie laughs and nods as Holly finally hangs up the phone. “I forgot how frantic this place is outside of rehearsals,” she groans. She rummages around on the tiny desk, much to Artie’s poorly-concealed annoyance as she displaces knickknacks and rearranges papers, until she produces Santana’s new prompt book. She passes it to Santana, who’s fingers are already itching to crack the spine of the binder and start writing her own notes in; Artie hands her a spare pen with a knowing grin. “Today’s show is going to be a little insane,” Holly explains, “But you’ll do fine, sweet cheeks. You have a steep learning curve.” Santana’s not really sure how Holly could possibly know that, seeing as the last time they worked together Santana was still in college and barely an assistant to the assistant stage manager, but she nods anyways. “I’m going to get Quinn to give you the tour while I get ready for the matinee, and then we’ll hole up in the stage manager’s office and go through the show from the screens in there. For the evening show—” Holly’s phone phone rings and cuts her off, and she groans as she answers it, waving Quinn and Santana off towards the vague direction of the rest of the theatre, and they take their cue to leave just as Holly starts getting heated with whatever poor soul is on the other end of the line.

Santana flips through the book as she trails after Quinn, half-listening to her explanations and introductions; it’s second nature to dodge props and racks of costumes and stretching dancers by this point, even in the dimmed lights of backstage, so she keeps most of her attention focused on reading through the calls even though she’s never actually seen the blocking. She inwardly groans, the next couple shows really are going to be absolutely insane.

When Quinn takes a breath in her explanation of the Christmas tree prop and the mechanical issues they’ve been having lately, Santana finally glances up from the prompt book. “So why didn’t they just promote you?” she asks, “Seems like it would have been easier that way.”

Quinn’s head whips around to glare at her. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she snaps.  
Santana glances up at Quinn and frowns at the look on her face. “Wow, cool the fires there, Beelzebub. I meant why would they hire someone new when you obviously know the show already.”

“Oh,” Quinn says, and she has the grace to look a little sheepish, “This is only the second production I’ve worked on, and it’s my first big one too. They offered, since I’ve been working with the show since the very beginning, but I’m nowhere near ready to run a production myself, especially something as big as this.”

Santana nods and returns to flipping through the prompt book while Quinn returns to narrate what seems to be the entire history of the theatre. It’s not like Santana’s uninterested in learning about how old this production is, or how they use the original props, or what famous person happened to sneeze right where they’re standing, it’s just priorities; Santana’s supposed to be running this production by tomorrow and she hasn’t even skimmed through the second act in the prompt book. Holly warned her that it would be crazy during her interview, because Holly had to be across the country for a mandated meeting tomorrow morning and would be leaving Santana, who only knew the names of about five people in the entire building, to fend for herself.

It’s not that she doesn’t love a good challenge, it’s just frustrating when her pay-check and reputation hinges on said challenge.

She ducks under a large candy cane swinging towards her head and groans at the thought.

* * *

Quinn leads her to the principal hallway, squeezing between stray dancers wandering the tiny hallway. The walls are lined with racks of costumes and wigs, and Santana takes a moment to admire the care put into the costumes; Quinn said that this production has been reusing their costumes from the very first performance, all the way back in 1954, and despite the slightly musty smell clinging to the fabric, they’ve obviously been well cared for. Quinn knocks on a door halfway down the hallway, and Santana quickly snaps out of her admiration to catch up to her. The name on the door reads The Nutcracker/The Prince, and a man Santana already knows well opens the door.

“Santana!” he exclaims, “I didn’t realize you were actually starting already!” Quinn blinks and glances between them, her face a picture of confusion, as Mike pulls Santana into a tight hug.

“You two know each other?” she asks slowly.

Santana rolls her eyes and halfheartedly struggles to escape from Mike’s embrace. “Unfortunately he’s been dating my best friend since college,” she complains as Mike finally releases her, but not before giving her an obnoxious kiss on the crown of her head. Santana swats at him a little but he just continues to grin at her; _dating my best friend_ is an understatement of their relationship, because Santana counts him as one of two people she truly trusts with everything and anything, but it’s not like she’s going to acknowledge that when he’s being irritatingly affectionate just to annoy her.

Quinn’s hazel eyes glow with amusement. “Oh, so _you’re_ the infamous Santana that Tina’s always talking about.”

“All bad things, I promise,” Tina calls from the couch.

“Oh, shut up,” Santana snipes as she turns a withering glare on her. Tina just rolls her eyes, as unfazed by Santana’s snark as she was their first day of college, and continues reading her magazine, her feet propped up on the coffee table.

“Alright,” Quinn says slowly, “Uh, I guess we should go meet Brittany then.”

“She’s not in yet,” Mike says. “She had that appointment, remember?”

“She said she’d be here in time for half hour,” Tina adds.

“Right,” Quinn shrugs and glances at Santana, “I guess you’ll meet her between shows then.”

“I mean, I still don’t know half the stage management team,” Santana says dryly, “One more person won’t make a difference.”

Tina chuckles. “Brittany’s just lucky that she doesn’t have to see your annoying face for a couple hours yet.”

“Get me out of here before we have to send the understudy on,” Santana comments mildly, Quinn grins and leads them out the door.

“Love you, Santana,” Tina and Mike chorus.

“Yeah, whatever,” she grumbles as she pulls the door shut firmly so they don’t see her begrudgingly fond smile; of course, being her best friends, they don’t need to see it to know it’s there.

* * *

Quinn weaves through the theatre and points out people that Santana’s sure she’s going to forget about in roughly three seconds. Usually by this point Santana has all the company and crew members memorized, but she’s starting to realize that this entire experience is going to be one stumbling improvisation after another for the first little bit. She meets the conductor, Will Schuester, who Quinn introduces as Schue; Kurt Hummel is the head of costumes and he talks rapid fire as he explains some important quick changes while Santana scribbles down notes in her prompt book; Finn Hudson and Noah “Puck” Puckerman, who leers at her and Quinn while Santana resists the urge to make fun of his nickname, work in props and are running the department while the head, Emma Pillsbury, is out sick; Quinn rolls her eyes when she introduces her to the sound crew and its head, Blaine Anderson, and the sound his voice already sets Santana’s teeth on edge; Unique Adams explains some of the more complicated lighting calls from her booth and Santana adds some more notes into her prompt book; Quinn points out the head of the automaton department, Dave Karofsky, who is busy wrestling with some of the ropes on a fly; Lauren Zizes is the fourth and final member of the stage management team, and she gives Santana a wide smirk and a _good luck_ before turning back to talking to Artie over her headset.

Quinn also introduces her to some of the corps dancers and kids, but she doesn’t pay much attention because she has more important people to memorize before the show starts, like the name of every department head that she’s pretty sure she’s already forgotten.

Quinn hands her a headset with an apologetic glance. “I know it’s pretty overwhelming—”

“I’m not overwhelmed,” Santana protests automatically. Quinn just keeps staring at her blankly. “I’m a little bit whelmed at the most,” Santana finally concedes, and Quinn snorts in amusement.

“This is going to be interesting,” she says as the announcement booms throughout the theatre for half hour.

Santana settles the headset over her ears, and it eases her instantly; there’s a crackle of static as Quinn stands too close, but she quickly takes a couple steps away and then she grins at Santana, her teeth flashing eerie blue in the dim backstage lights. “I usually run stage right while Zizes does stage left, and Artie runs the call desk,” she explains. “I’m not sure where Holly is but—”

“ _In the stage manager’s office, sweet cheeks_ ,” drawls through their headsets.

Quinn glances at Santana to point her in the right direction, but Santana is already heading that way. 

* * *

Holly barely pauses in her near constant stream of phone calls to talk to her. It’s been years since Santana last worked with Holly as a director, back when Santana was just an overtired and overworked college student, but if she knows one thing about the older woman it’s that Holly’s practically a professional at improvising on the fly.

Which means she’s barely surprised when Holly explains that her flight got moved up and that Santana will have to learn the entire show from backstage with Quinn instead of from the comfort of the office where Holly could teach her the blocking over the screen pointed at centre stage. Santana’s done _The Nutcracker_ three different times in three different cities, so she knows the show, which only marginally helps her out because every single production has its quirks, and she has absolutely no clue what to expect with this one.

But she tries not to think of that, and instead nods at Holly and adjusts her headset, clutching her prompt book like it’s a life preserver that’s going to keep her from drowning, which, she realizes, is actually fairly apt. She heads out of the hallway of theatre offices to find Quinn backstage, absently listening to her have an argument with that Blaine guy from sound over the headsets until Zizes interrupts with a particularly harsh quip regarding Blaine’s mother and where, exactly, he can stick it, and the argument dies pretty quickly after that. Quinn is pinching her nose when Santana arrives, only a couple minutes before the five minute call. She seems grateful that Santana’s there and pushes her headset off her ear for a brief moment, tugging the mic away from her mouth and waiting until Santana does the same. “The dance captain for the flower corps just called and she’s stuck on the subway in Brooklyn.”

Santana glances around. “Okay?” she says slowly.

“What do we do?”

Santana blinks at Quinn. “I barely know who the fuck any of these people are, what exactly do you expect _me_ to do?”

Quinn rolls her eyes. “This is a you problem, _you’re_ the production stage manager.”

“For like a three minutes,” Santana mutters but flips through the prompt book anyways. “The flower corps don’t come in until the end of the second act,” Santana says slowly, “If she’s not here by intermission we’ll deal with it then.”

Quinn nods and pushes her headset back into place so she can relay the order to Zizes and Artie. Dancers have already started to gather in the wings, doing last minute stretches, and the team of stagehands Santana still hasn’t met yet dart between them for last minute checks. She spots the two lumbering guys from props heading towards the Christmas tree before they’re hidden behind the fly being lowered to the floor, and then the lights are dimming and the announcement to put cellphones away is booming, and the curtain rises as the first strains of the orchestra fill the theatre.

Santana’s thankful that she already has some experience with the show, because otherwise she would be making even less sense of the chaos backstage than she currently is. Santana mostly ignores Quinn, instead focusing on the blocking and comparing it to her prompt book in the dim, but somehow still harsh blue light backstage. Santana finds herself slipping easily into her position, and soon enough she’s adding her own voice to Quinn’s on the headset. Santana’s always had an instinct for stage management from her very first experience in a theatre, for the mechanical, repetitive, and yet still unpredictable nature of the job, and the instinct has served her well over the years, and before she knows it, intermission is starting and Quinn is clapping her on the shoulder with a grin. 

Despite the chaos around them and the too warm weight of Quinn’s hand, Santana has a feeling she’s going to really like the challenge of this production; it will keep her busy and distracted, at the very least, which is something she always needs during the month of December.

* * *

Santana’s always found the second act of _The Nutcracker_ to be a little boring without the frantic energy of the party and then the battle in the first act, and she feels almost lazy as Quinn helps herd children into place in the wings; they may be tiny professionals, but it’s only the eighth show so far, and the chaos of backstage can be a little overwhelming, especially for the younger dancers. It’s not until Quinn nudges her and points out the Sugar Plum Fairy, giggling and whispering with some kids, that Santana finally notices the presence of third principal. The _Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy_ is always the most interesting to Santana in the second act because the energy of the audience always changes and perks up as soon as that first pluck of the string section drifts through the theatre. Santana creeps closer to the front of the stage as the Sugar Plum Fairy, Brittany, leaves the safe darkness of backstage and emerges into the harsh onstage lights.

The strings pluck the first chord as Brittany enters the stage _en pointe_ , her limbs long and poised with an easy grace, her stiff classic tutu moving easily with her waist as she makes her way to centre stage. On the first note of the celesta, Santana can see the exhilarated smile on Brittany’s face for a split second before she blinks and falls into character even before the second note is ringing out. She moves with the music as if the conductor is pulling on her puppet strings and Santana forgets to concentrate on the blocking and the musical cues in favour of just watching Brittany.

She looks like something off of a ballerina music box, beautiful and delicate, but as she spins across the stage Santana can see the strength and power in her legs, the certain grace and ease in her movements, the concentration and glow in her eyes. Santana’s seen a lot of dancers through her years of stage managing, enough to recognize that _spark_ that differentiates people who dance for a living and for those who live to dance, and Santana can’t help the wide smile spreading across her face as Brittany draws to a stop and the crowd bursts into applause; having that _spark_ in one of the principals is rare, and more than Santana could ever hope for in any production.

* * *

She manages to survive both shows with only a little bit of nausea at the thought that she’s supposed to be in charge of the entire production tomorrow; Holly left during intermission of the first show, but Quinn, Zizes, and Artie already work well together, and Santana just needs to find a way to fit herself among them without causing too much friction.

She wanders down the principal hallway, on her way to meet up with Tina before leaving the theatre, when she hears a persistent, loud banging against the wall right beside her. Santana jumps but manages to bite down on her shriek and glances wildly at the wall. The banging pauses for a second before resuming and Santana makes her way to the closest door, poking her head in without knocking; it’s not like anyone would hear her knock over the banging anyways.

She finds the Sugar Plum Fairy, her blonde hair still pinned up but dressed in loose sweats and a baggy sweater, smacking her ballet shoes against the wall with a focus Santana’s rarely seen in anyone, least of all in someone banging their shoe against a wall. Santana clears her throat and Brittany starts a little and quickly glances up.

“Hi,” she grins, giving the shoe one more firm smack against the wall, “You must be Santana.”

Santana swallows the retort on the tip of her tongue when the bluest eyes she’s ever seen land on hers, somehow sparkling even in the poor lighting of the dressing room. She manages a nod as Brittany bends her shoe a little before tossing it onto the coffee table where another shoe, a tiny sewing kit, a hot glue gun, an x-acto knife, and a small pile of resin are scattered. Santana glances at the wall, littered with tiny smudges of pink from Brittany’s banging, and laughs a little, finally realizing why Brittany’s beating the wall with her shoes so violently. “Who knew the Sugar Plum Fairy bangs her own shoes,” she says.

Brittany’s face creases in a smile, thin lips curling up a little lopsided on one side, her cheeks scrunching her blue eyes until they’re catlike and sparkling, and Santana’s chest does this weird spasming, fluttering thing that she tries to ignore. “Well, the Land of Sweets is pretty low on funds,” she says easily.

Santana laughs a little before she steps forward, holding out her hand. “Santana Lopez,” she formally introduces, “Mostly confused, new production stage manager.”

Brittany takes her hand, her fingers sure and strong as they wrap around Santana’s. “Brittany S. Pierce,” she says, “Sugar Plum Fairy and professional shoe banger.” Brittany’s nose wrinkles adorably as she realizes what she just said. “Ew, not like that.”

Santana giggles and only briefly wonders at how easily Brittany coaxed that sound out of her; usually it’s only Tina and Mike that make her comfortable enough to giggle instead of smirk, and that’s mostly because she’s known them for far too long, but there’s something easy about Brittany’s smile that already makes her drop her guard a little bit. “That wouldn’t even be the weirdest thing I’ve seen someone in the company bang,” Santana whispers.

Brittany’s eyes widen comically and she leans forwards eagerly. “ _Seen_?” she exclaims.

Santana shudders, suddenly regretting that she brought it up when the image burned into her memory starts replaying for her. “Unfortunately.”

Brittany giggles and clasps her hands together, rocking backwards on her heels. “Like a train wreck, right?” she asks knowingly.

Santana blinks out of the memory, focusing on the much more pleasing image of Brittany’s sparkling eyes. “Definitely.”

Brittany laughs a little, relaxing again, and there’s a small lull that would normally make Santana fidget with her hands, but Brittany just smiles softly at her and Santana finds herself smiling in return. “So, are you ready for the shows tomorrow?” Brittany finally asks, her voice quiet and warm.

Santana shrugs. “They’re going to be,” she pauses and glances up at the ceiling as she thinks of the right word, “interesting, to say the least.”

The fingers of Brittany’s right hand twitch towards her arm, but freeze a moment later and drop back to her side. Santana wonders what it would feel like to have those clever fingers grazing over her skin, but manages to snap out of her daydreaming with only a little bit of heat in her checks when Brittany speaks again. “I’m sure you’ll do great,” she says easily, “I was talking to Quinn after the show and she was saying that you were a quick study.”

Santana blinks. “Really?” she wonders. It’s not that she thought Quinn would hate her or anything, but, in Santana’s experience, shoving a new person into the production this late always ends up having issues; when sometimes she covers for other stage managers there’s almost always a little bit of tension as everyone tries to adjust to each other.

Brittany nods easily, a small smile curling her lips. “She said that you fit in really well.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was so worried that everyone would hate me or something,” Santana says, before blinking in surprise. She hadn’t meant to admit that, she’s barely talked about her reservations regarding this job with Tina or Mike, yet somehow Brittany is on the receiving end of Santana’s sudden lack of a filter. “Um, you were amazing tonight, by the way,” she redirects quickly. 

Pink blooms in splotches across the peak of Brittany’s cheeks despite the fact that Santana _knows_ that this can’t be the first compliment that Brittany’s ever got. “Thanks,” she mumbles bashfully, and something in Santana’s chest twists when she realizes she really wants to see that blush again, and she’s about to go about doing just that when a voice interrupts them from the door.

“Santana?” 

Brittany and Santana both turn to the door, finding Tina smirking from the doorway. Santana feels her face heat up for absolutely no reason as Tina’s eyes dart between her and Brittany. “I thought I heard you in here,” she explains, “I see you’ve finally met Brittany.”

Brittany brightens a little. “Your battle scene was great today,” she greets, “Sam said you actually nailed him in the eye.”

Tina laughs, her face opening and brightening at the compliment. “I threw it weird and didn’t even think I would hit him, but he slipped on his turn and instead of missing him I got him right in the face.”

Brittany grins. “Mike said it was glorious.”

Tina chuckles before glancing at Santana. “You coming? Mike’s already impatiently opened a bottle of wine at home to celebrate your first day.”

Santana hesitates. “There’s two shows tomorrow,” she protests weakly, “And I’ve gotta go through the prompt book a couple more times.”

“The matinee’s not until one,” Tina says easily, more than used to having to drag Santana away from her work.

Brittany glances back and forth between the two friends before settling her eyes on Santana, and the warmth in Brittany’s gaze makes that thing spasm in her chest again. “You only have one first day,” she says wisely.

Santana sighs and glances between the two. “Fine,” she mutters. Tina cheers from the doorway, but Brittany just gives her a quiet smile. 

“Have fun,” Brittany says.

Santana sucks in a sharp breath through her nose before offering Brittany a small smile in return. “Thanks,” she murmurs, “See you tomorrow.”

Brittany waves her goodbyes to them as Tina drags her out of the dressing room, marching Santana to the stage manager’s office so they can collect Santana’s jacket and prompt book before she can change her mind and insist on going back to her apartment without celebratory drinks. Tina’s lucky enough to have a good parking space in the building’s parkade, being a principal and all, and they head to the elevators that will take them to the parking level in comfortable silence.

“So what do you think?” Tina says as she starts her car and backs out of her parking space. “How do you think it will go?”

“It’s going to be challenging,” Santana admits, “But, interesting, I think.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Santana bites her lip but once she realizes Tina is sufficiently distracted by watching traffic for her chance to pull out of the parkade her reluctance fades, “I have a good feeling about this show.”

Tina apparently wasn’t distracted as Santana thought she was and glances at Santana out of the corner of her eyes, her eyes curious and intrigued in the brightness of the streetlights and taillights around them. “Really? I haven’t heard you say that about a show in years,” she says carefully.

Blue eyes and a soft smile come unbidden to her mind, and Santana’s thankful for the darkness because it hides the blush she can feel creeping along her cheeks and the back of her neck. “Yeah,” she finally says, “I have a really good feeling about it.”


	2. there were sweeties and chocolates and toys and lights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rachel still doesn’t quite understand what an understudy is despite the fact that she is one; Brittany gets caught blushing far more often than she’s used to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone who’s been following me on tumblr you Know that this understudy thing gets me Heated lol

The matinee goes far more smoothly than most people thought it would, but it’s not that it went well that surprises Brittany, it’s that people thought it wouldn’t. She doesn’t really make it a habit to listen when the company gossips, partly because there’s always a lot of mean gossip surrounding her and Mike and Tina since they’re all principals and Brittany just prefers to ignore it all, and partly because Mercedes always keeps her well informed anyways, usually when she’s changing Brittany into her costume or helping with her hair and makeup and Brittany has no choice but to listen. She when she hears people marvelling at how well Santana’s handled the show, despite the fact that she was literally only hired two days ago, she’s more than a little surprised that people are surprised. 

She’s comfortably close with Quinn and Artie, not enough that they seek each other’s company outside of the show, but enough that she doesn’t mind having lunch with them between shows. And it’s because she doesn’t mind having lunch with them that she knows Santana Lopez is more than qualified to run the show, maybe too qualified if the copy of her resume Artie snuck them was anything to go by; and beyond that, she knows that Tina and Mike trust her completely, so she was never too worried about the change in production stage manager. Based on the complete and utter surprise of most people as they file into one of the larger rehearsal room for a quick meeting, Brittany realizes that she’s in a minority.

She spots Mercedes and Sam giggling together and blushing, so she heads over to them and collapses onto the floor beside them. None of the children are at the meeting, they’re all getting lunch with their parents and friends before the show at five, and though the meeting isn’t mandatory for the teenagers, there’s a couple of them gossiping in a corner. The entire rest of the company and all of the department heads, along with most of their departments too, are squished into the room. The mirrors lining the walls make it look like there are even more people than there actually are, and Brittany knows how nerve-racking it can be to stand in front of so many people with the mirrors multiplying them tenfold, but Santana looks calm and collected as her and Quinn break away from the small team of stage managers and stagehands in the corner to address the room.

It’s a typical meeting, and they go over some minor changes that Santana’s suggested to make backstage less congested during a couple scene changes, and despite the slight grumbling throughout the company, who like their routines perhaps too much, Brittany finds herself nodding along. They’re all changes that Brittany can easily see making the flow backstage so much smoother, and she briefly wonders why they haven’t always been doing it, but then she remembers their old production stage manager and how absentminded Holly can sometimes be and she’s not all that surprised. Their old production stage manager was a little all over the place, to say the least, and while Holly is an amazing director, but she doesn’t quite have the focused, meticulous, mechanical brain needed for stage managing. It’s refreshing to have a production stage manager that, despite having stepped foot in the theatre for the very first time about forty-eight hours ago, obviously seems to know what she’s doing.

The topic changes as Santana and Quinn address some of the dance corps, and Brittany finds herself tuning out of the conversation in favour of staring at Santana. She should probably be paying attention, but Santana does this cute little furrowed brow thing when someone interrupts her and Brittany kind of wants to smooth it out. She also talks with her hands a lot, and Brittany finds her eyes drawn to the movement of her arms as she gestures around or fiddles with her notebook. She’s completely lost to admiring Santana’s quiet grace in her movements when dark eyes catch on hers suddenly and something jolts up her spine, starting near her tailbone and tingling up towards the base of her skull as she sits up a little taller. She thinks maybe Santana’s just scanning the crowd and Brittany happened to see her when she glanced in Brittany’s general direction, but Santana’s eyes linger unmistakably on hers and it makes heat crawl, hot and prickling, under her skin until she’s pretty sure she’s blushing all the way down to her bellybutton. It’s been a very long time since Brittany got caught staring at a pretty girl, and she desperately pretends that her complexion doesn’t allow everyone to see exactly how fiercely she’s blushing.

Mercedes nudges her with her arm, smirking deeply as she glances between Santana and her, and Brittany curses herself for getting caught staring not just by Santana, but by her best friend as well. She’s pretty sure that she hasn’t felt this embarrassed to be caught staring at a girl since she was only questioning her sexuality in high school, and it doesn’t help that she _knows_ that Mercedes is going to give her the third degree and relentlessly tease her as soon as they’re alone in her dressing room before the evening show. Mercedes continues to smirk at her even as Brittany resolutely refuses to acknowledge her; the worst thing about this is that she won’t even be able to escape from her best friend’s teasing after she leaves the theatre considering that Mercedes’ bedroom is about fifteen feet from her own.

She refocuses on the conversation as soon as she feels like she’s not about to burst into flames and Santana is asking if there’s any questions. Quinn winces beside her, as does half the company, while the only person who ever has ‘questions’ shoots her hand into the air, almost before Santana finishes talking. A wave of stifled groans goes through the company as Santana points at Rachel, whose arm is ramrod straight; Brittany’s been in ballet for almost as long as she’s been walking, and even her posture isn’t as straight as Rachel’s arm when she has a question.

“Yes, I was wondering if you have given any thought to changing the cast lineups to include more of the under-appreciated talent in this room. I would be willing to offer—”

“I’m sorry,” Santana interrupts, looking politely annoyed, “You are?”

Rachel draws herself up with an affronted air, and this time the company doesn’t try even hide their collective groan. “Rachel Berry, Marie’s understudy. I’m sure you’ve heard of me already.”

Santana glances at Quinn in barely concealed confusion, but Quinn just widens her eyes and subtly shakes her head.

“My talents, and I am sure you must be well aware of them, are wasted unless I am on stage in the spotlight,” Rachel continues without prompting. “My star shines too bright and it is a misuse of my talents to keep them hidden away in a lowly understudy roll—”

“Do you— Do you know what an understudy is?” Santana asks, her bewildered tone completely betraying her polite expression.

“Of course I know what an understudy is,” Rachel says haughtily, “As I’m sure everyone here knows, I was on Broadway in the prestigious revival of _Funny Girl_.”

“Yeah, for like a second,” Brittany mutters. Beside her, Mercedes and Sam snort and choke back their laughter.

Rachel continues to ramble, and Santana continues to look adorably baffled before she finally blinks out of her daze. “Look,” she interrupts loudly, waiting until Rachel awkwardly trails off, “I didn’t do the casting, I have no clue how well you dance, but I trust that Holly casted the correct people for the job, and I’m more than certain Tina’s earned her spot. And besides that, I have nothing to do with Tina’s ability to perform on any given day, and unless she calls in sick or injured, you will not be going on as Marie. As is standard of any understudy.”

“Yes, but—” Rachel starts. Brittany meets Tina’s eyes across the heads of people, and the pure, unfiltered annoyance in them as she rolls them at Brittany makes her bite down, almost painfully, on her lip so she doesn’t giggle too loud.

“No buts,” Santana says, her voice slowly growing more curt and clipped, “this is how shows are run. You are the understudy, you only go on if the principal cannot. Shows have done this for like, literally, a century. And I don’t know why you don’t know this, or why you seem to think I don’t understand how theatre works and will just put you on whenever you feel like it. But I have a feeling you aren’t going on unless Tina comes down with the bubonic plague.”

Rachel continues to argue, starting to criticize Santana’s running of the show and her experience, and as Rachel starts to move on to Santana’s personal character, Brittany can tell Santana is starting to lose the calm, collected exterior she’s had all meeting. Brittany leans back in her chair and surveys the room, sensing the rest of the company starting to shift around and glance at each other, and waiting for her opening. Sure, she hates Rachel as much as the next sane person, and she’s usually really good at just zoning her out, but she forces herself to pay attention to whatever is coming out of Rachel’s mouth because Santana’s far too cute to lose her temper in front of the entire company on just her second day.

The next time Rachel takes a breath to continue her rambling, Brittany tilts her head and dons her practiced look of confusion. “Does anyone else hear that? It sound like a cat getting its temperature taken,” she calls, just loud enough to be heard by the company, “All I can hear is screaming.”

There’s a small wave of chuckles that go throughout the room, and a small wave of _oh it’s just Brittany being Brittany_ eye rolls too, but it shocks Rachel enough that she stops talking, her mouth freezing half open. Quinn takes the moment to quickly clap her hands together and dismiss everyone, and Rachel’s complaints are lost to a crowd of people quickly standing and trying to escape the room.

Brittany barely notices, because Santana’s amused and relieved dark eyes have landed on hers, and Brittany’s stomach flips over as Santana offers her a small smile, mouthing _thank you_ across the room.

Santana has dimples and her nose scrunches up when she smiles, and Brittany’s pretty sure she’s already a goner.

* * *

The evening show goes even better than the matinee, and though there’s some slight confusion at the top of the first act, by the time intermission rolls around the backstage traffic is far less congested than usual thanks to Santana’s suggestions. Brittany can’t help the touch of smugness that colours her smile as she heads back to her dressing room while she listens to the gossip, which has changed from how surprised everyone is with Santana not completely failing to how impressed they are with her improvements. Sure, it’s not like the changes were Brittany’s own ideas or anything, but she feels like one of the only people who never doubted Santana for a second, and she’s proud that Santana’s proved them all wrong in less than twelve hours.

As soon as she reaches her dressing room, Mercedes is already there waiting for her. She helps Brittany out of her costume and tiara, before carefully unpinning her hair even though she doesn’t have to, while Brittany fights to peel her bodysuit and tights off, tossing them in the general direction of her tiny closet before carelessly peeling off the tape around her toes and dunking her feet in the bucket of ice by her couch. She hisses at the instant relief, and Mercedes just laughs and shakes her head. 

“I gotta drop Sam off at his apartment a little early today,” Mercedes says, “Do you want me to swing around and pick you up after?” Brittany nods quickly; she ices her feet after almost every show, but the cold never fails to shock her body and steal her ability to speak. Mercedes tosses her the sweater she wore to the theatre, and Brittany quickly pulls it over her head, shivering as the cold seems to creep along her veins. Mercedes starts to head for the door, but suddenly stops and glances back at Brittany with a wicked smile. “Don’t think you’re getting out of talking about what happened at the meeting today, Britt-Britt,” she teases. Brittany groans and, despite the cold, she feels heat crawl under her skin again. Mercedes chuckles at her and waves her goodbyes as leaves, leaving the door cracked open. As soon as she’s gone, Brittany leans forward for her phone, quickly lighting it up to check her messages. There’s a couple promotional emails and a notification from instagram, but nothing from her mom, and she has to remind herself that no news is good news.

Movement from the hallway catches her eye and Brittany glances at the door, only spotting a flash of black as someone walks past. She briefly hopes it’s Santana, partially because she wants to talk to her and congratulate on the shows today, and partially because she wants to feel that same bright lifting feeling she did last night when she showed up in her dressing room doorway, but mostly because she has something to give her.

As soon as her teeth start chattering she realizes that the ache of cold has been replaced by the numb feeling that means she probably left her feet in the ice too long, and she quickly draws them out to dry them and pull on her warmest pair of socks. She takes her time wiping her makeup off and slipping into her comfiest and most worn pair of sweats just as she hears a knock at the door. She calls her invitation and hears the door creak open as she turns to greet her visitor, fighting down the flash of hope that curls beneath her sternum, which proves fruitless when she sees that it is Santana standing there just like she hoped. She’s wearing a cute leather jacket, a red scarf looped loosely around her neck, looking ready to head home for the evening, but what really catches Brittany’s attention is the small smiling playing on Santana’s lips.

“No banging shoes tonight?” Santana asks in lieu of greeting.

Brittany grins. “Wasn’t on the schedule,” she replies with a teasing shrug, “I didn’t work them too hard tonight.” Santana grins and hovers in the doorway, and it’s only then that Brittany notices the notebook in her hands. “You doing notes tonight?” she asks.

Santana starts a little and blinks away her surprise, seeming a little surprised by the notebook in her hands for a moment before she recovers. “Oh, god no, I just came down to see Tina quickly,” she laughs, “I barely had time to breathe during the show, let alone focus on doing any notes.” She holds up the notebook with a small smile. “Tina just gave me this in celebration of my first official show. It’s kind of a tradition.”

Brittany grins. “That’s cute,” she says. “It must be nice having people at the theatre you already know.”

Santana nods and her smile turns fond and a little nostalgic. “Tina and I were roommates all throughout college,” she explains, “And then she started dating Mike in our third year, and they’ve been nauseating adorable and loved up ever since.”

“They’ve been dating for that long?”

Santana laughs, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh yeah. If you think they’re bad now, you should have seen them when they just had crushes on each other through our second year. Adorable? Absolutely. Annoying oblivious? Definitely.” Brittany giggles. Tina and Mike are the most stable couple she knows, inside the company and out, but now she kind of wishes she could have known them before they got together. “They’ve been my best friends ever since,” Santana says, and though she rolls her eyes a little Brittany can see the fondness crinkling her eyes and tugging at her lips.

“That’s sweet,” Brittany says.

Santana shrugs a little and brushes it off with an embarrassed, “Yeah, well,” before straightening up a little. “Are you heading out soon?” Brittany barely has time to blink before Santana gets this bright, breathless, wide-eyed look and she starts talking again. “I mean— Because I’m on my way and Tina’s already gone so. I figured I’d check with you and— You know, see if you needed company,” she finishes lamely.

Brittany’s not quite sure if there’s a more adorable person on the planet, and she quickly assures Santana that, _yes_ , she was _just leaving too_. She gathers her coat and shrugs it on, tugging a hat over her ears and sliding into her sneakers before heading to the door, collecting her wallet and phone from the coffee table on her way. Santana takes a step backwards down the hall to let Brittany out and she dig her keys out of her jacket pocket so she can lock the door.

She’s just about to turn the key when she remembers the whole reason she was hoping Santana would stop by in the first place. “Wait!” she says suddenly, shoving the door back open with a little more enthusiasm than strictly necessary, the sound of the doorjamb protesting the harsh movement echoing throughout the dressing room. “I have something for you!”

Santana watches her curiously from the doorway as she rummages around on the vanity in the dark until her fingers close around what she was looking for. She quickly crosses the room again, and Santana steps out into the light of the hallway while Brittany hides her tiny gift behind her back. “I, uh, saw this today and I got it so, um, so you have something to remember your first official show by,” she rambles, quickly biting onto her lip so more words don’t escape her as she hands the gift to Santana. It’s a tiny plastic figurine she saw through a toy shop window that morning on her way to the theatre, a flat circle of painted snow with the Sugar Plum Fairy dancing in the middle, surrounded by Marie in her white nightgown and the Prince in his soldier uniform. She’s pretty sure it’s supposed to be an ornament, but she cut the ribbon off so now it’s just a simple figurine. 

Santana takes it carefully from Brittany, as if it’s made of fragile glass and not toylike plastic. Her fingers trace delicately over the dancing fairy and Brittany suddenly feels heat crawl and creep under her skin. Usually she’s not this prone to blushing, if anything she prides herself on making others blush, but Santana must have some innate connection to the blood vessels in her cheeks because they always seem to be super aware of her presence. 

“I know it’s— Kind of dumb or childish or whatever,” she mumbles. She’s always been told by that too many people that, even if she is a principal dancer with one of the most prestigious dance companies in North America, but she understands how important it is to rediscover how to have fun; life’s far too hard and messy and cruel to take yourself too seriously, and Brittany’s found that sometimes the only thing you can do is have fun and laugh. But people have made her feel insecure about it for so long, all the way back in middle school when having sleepovers and playing pretend with her little sister suddenly wasn’t cool anymore, that it makes her nervous to drop her caution around people other than her sister or Mercedes or Sam because they almost always disappoint her.

“No,” Santana says quickly, shaking her head sharply, and when she glances up at Brittany her eyes are shining and bright with something Brittany can’t name. “It’s perfect,” she whispers, “Thank you.”

The heat in Brittany’s cheeks continues to prickle her skin, but as she kicks one foot behind her other she already knows it has less to do with nervous embarrassment now and more to do with how bashful-giddy she feels when Santana directs that smile at her. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, “You deserve to remember today. You did amazing.”

Santana’s eyes never leave hers even as her smile widens and she whispers her thanks again. Brittany feels too much all at once and fumbles with her keys before quickly turning to lock her door, finding Santana’s eyes still on her when she turns back around. “Shall we?” Brittany asks, gesturing down the hallway. 

Santana nods quickly, finally glancing away to look at the figurine in her hand before tucking it carefully in her jacket pocket. 

Brittany finds it really easy to talk to Santana as they head out of the theatre, and the earlier heat creeping under her skin starts to fade as they navigate the halls. Santana can make Brittany laugh really easily and Brittany kind of really, really likes that, but Brittany quickly finds that what she likes even more is making Santana smile, because Brittany’s never felt more accomplished than when her deadpan makes Santana’s dimples crease her cheeks, and even better than that is saying something that makes Santana toss her head back as bright carefree giggles spill forth from her.

The make it to the front lobby far sooner than Brittany wants to, and as soon as they step out into the chilly air, her phone buzzes with a text from Mercedes telling her that she’s here just as a dark SUV pulls up. “That’s my ride,” Brittany says. They both pause, still smiling at each other, until Brittany shakes herself out of her daze and whispers a quick _bye_ as she heads for Mercedes’ SUV.

“Hey,” Santana calls just as Brittany’s hand lands on the handle of the passenger door, “Thanks, for today. You know, at the meeting.”

Brittany feels something warm and bright and fond curl in her stomach. The feeling isn’t something she’s ever really felt before, but it reminds her of camping with her parents to celebrate the first time she ever won gold a competition, when she would huddle closer to the fire until it would feel like its warmth was blooming from within her cheeks and and chest instead of from the fire itself. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs, and despite the rush of the city around them Brittany feels a little bit like it’s just them on the sidewalk for a moment. “Goodnight, Santana,” she says softly.

Those dimples crease Santana’s cheeks and makes Brittany’s breath hitch just a little. “Goodnight, Brittany.”


	3. so they gathered all they could

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana shows up to breakfast with her friends looking like a drowned cat; Brittany’s far too adorable for Santana’s wellbeing.

Santana groans and rings her hair out as she steps through the first set of doors to the restaurant, feeling more drowned cat than human. The weather had seemed fine this morning when she left her apartment, a little grey and cold but nothing she wasn’t used to; or, it was fine until she emerged from the subway into what could only be described as a torrential downpour. With no umbrella or hood on her jacket, she had spent the three blocks to the restaurant cold and uncomfortable, rain plastering her hair to her face in heavy tendrils and sneaking down the collar of her jacket until her shirt was sticking uncomfortably to her back. She finally rings her hair out enough that it’s not dripping too much, opening the second set of doors to the restaurant and feeling a little less rude about the fact that she’s leaving droplets of water all over when she’s not literally trailing puddles of water behind her. Tina and Mike are already cuddled up on their usual side of their corner booth, facing the rest of the restaurant and sipping their drinks; coffee for Mike and a hot chocolate for Tina, like always.

As soon as she steps into their line of sight Tina bursts out laughing, so loud that Santana can hear it all the way from the front door, her giggles not letting up the entire time Santana stalks across the restaurant. “Oh, shut up,” Santana growls as she falls into the booth across from them. 

Mike has the grace to hide his grin around a sip of his coffee, but Tina has no such qualms. “You want a glass to go with that water?” she teases, gesturing at Santana’s limp hair.

Santana flicks her hand in Tina’s direction, spraying her with a healthy spatter of rainwater. Tina sputters a laugh as their waitress arrives at their table with a coffee and a water, giving Santana a sympathetic look even though her eyes dance with amusement as she sets the drinks in front of Santana. “Don’t you start in on me too,” Santana grumbles.

The waitress is more than used to Santana’s general morning grumpiness over the years, especially before her coffee, and just laughs and takes her order, not even bothering to offer Santana a menu; Santana’s pretty sure she hasn’t been offered a menu here since her second year of college. She struggles to peel out of her jacket as the waitress heads to the kitchen, even though she knows that her shirt is probably only marginally drier. Mike reaches across the table to tug on her sleeve and Santana mutters her thanks as the soaked fabric finally starts to peel away from her skin. She sighs in relief, scooting along the booth to hang her jacket on the coat rack attached to the divider between the booths before settling back against the window.

“Eugh,” Santana complains, plucking at her jeans; they barely peel away from her skin they’re so wet. “Remind me why I agreed to come here so early?”

“Because you love their pancakes,” Tina says easily.

“And their coffee,” Mike adds.

“And it’s tradition.”

Santana rolls her eyes but she doesn’t bother hiding her grin. “All valid reasons. But I’m bringing an umbrella next time.”

“Just get an actual raincoat for once,” Tina suggests.

“Or check the weather,” Mike adds helpfully.

Santana narrows her eyes at them. “Remind me again why I’m friends with you?”

Neither of them dignify that with an answer, just give identical snorts of amusement.

“So how’s the new big shot production stage manager handling the show?” Mike asks with a fondly teasing smile.

“Pretty good,” Santana says with an exhausted grin. She was up most of the night writing notes into her prompt book, marking practically every single call so she can hopefully learn the show a little quicker, but it’s a satisfying kind of exhaustion. “I mean, it’s insane that I’m running a show in a theatre that I hadn’t even step foot in three days ago, but I like the challenge.” 

“How’s it going with the other departments?” Tina asks.

Santana takes a quick sip of her coffee, savouring the way her senses start to finally wake up at the first hint of caffeine; she just wishes it would be enough to burn away the chill that’s settled into her bones. “Quinn and Zizes and Artie are great,” Santana says, “They all work really well together to start with, and they haven’t had any problems with me taking charge. The stagehands trust them, so they seem to trust me now, which is really helpful. Costumes and props and automatons have been good so far too. I made a couple changes with the lighting prompts for the battle scene and Unique thinks it’ll help illuminate the back soldiers. But,” Santana rolls her eyes involuntarily before she continues, “that greasy haired head of sound is always yapping in my ear. I swear to god he nitpicks my every decision just to spite me.”

Tina’s brows furrow in confusion. “Blaine,” Mike clarifies.

“I refuse to even say his name least he be summoned like some demon spawn,” Santana sneers. “He told me that having a phone on me during will ‘interfere with the sound waves and audio feedback from the pit,’ which makes no fucking sense because, one, every single stage manager I know keeps a phone on them in case of emergencies, and two, I’m no scientist but I’m pretty fucking sure that’s not how sound waves _or_ instruments work.”

“What did you say?” Tina asks warily.

Santana shrugs and smirks. “I told him that his hair gel is noxious and interfering with his brain waves.”

Mike laughs but chokes it off when Tina elbows him in admonishment. “That was rude,” he says, but he can’t hide the approving grin.

“Maybe,” Santana grins, “But it doesn’t mean I’m not right.”

“You probably shouldn’t antagonize someone you have to talk to practically every single day,” Tina suggests mildly. 

Santana just shrugs her off, as she usually does when Tina suggests dialling it back a little; ignoring Tina’s advice is generally how she gets into messy situations, but they all know that Santana wouldn’t be Santana if she didn’t move at her own pace. “I can handle him _and_ the overpowering fumes seeping from his head.”

Mike leans forward, glancing around the restaurant like he’s about to start gossiping in a high school cafeteria and is checking who might be listening. “His hair gel keeps him from looking like a chia pet,” he says lowly, and Tina and Santana burst into laughter. 

“Oh my god,” Tina gasps, delighted.

“Fuck that explains so much,” Santana says around her laughter.

Mike grins and leans back in his seat with a satisfied grin, stretching his arm across the back of the booth behind Tina. “I noticed you finally met Brittany,” he says once the two women have calmed down.

Tina turns her dark gaze on Santana, eyes glinting suggestively. “I could hear you laughing in her dressing room last night again.”

Santana rolls her eyes and doesn’t acknowledge the slight swooping feeling in her stomach. “She’s funny,” Santana shoots back easily, “Unlike the other principals.”

Mike gasps dramatically. “You take that back!” he accuses.

Santana just shrugs and leans back in the booth with a smirk. “You know me, Chang, I’m always unapologetically honest.”

“Brittany!” Tina interrupts. 

Santana glances at her in confusion. “Yeah,” she says slowly, “You forget who we were talking about, twinkle toes?”

Tina rolls her eyes and waves at the front of the restaurant instead of answering. Santana turns and cranes her neck over the back of the booth and, sure enough, there’s Brittany waving back with one hand and brushing water off the shoulders of her jacket with the other, a knitted hat tugged, adorably, a little too low over her forehead. Mercedes and Sam stand behind her, both of them shaking out umbrellas, looking a little damp but nowhere near as soaked as Santana.

Tina waves them over and Brittany, after a quick glance behind her to point out the group at the table to Mercedes and Sam, leads their group across the restaurant. “Hey!” Brittany greets brightly, her eyes scanning the table and landing on Santana with a warm smile. 

Everyone else choruses their greetings and Tina grins at up at them. “You guys here for the best pancakes in the city?”

Sam grins widely, putting his hands on Mercedes and Brittany’s outside shoulders and leaning between them until he’s practically hanging off of them. “They’ve never been here before, can you believe that?”

Mike and Santana gasp in scandalized sync; they’ve been coming here for pancakes since they were in college, and meeting people who’ve never had a taste of heaven borders on sacrilegious. Tina shares an eye roll with Mercedes. “Well,” Tina says mildly, “you two better taste them before these weirdos have an aneurysm.” 

Mike and Santana make obnoxious faces at Tina, singsonging “You _love_ us” in strangely harmonized sync. 

Brittany, Mercedes, and Sam all burst out laughing at the obvious teasing affection between the group of friends. “Why don’t you guys eat with us?” Tina offers, resolutely refusing to acknowledge her boyfriend or her best friend being absolutely embarrassing—and endearingly dorky, not that she’d ever admit that part. “You can help me keep my sanity.”

Mercedes and Sam glance at each other and shrug before giving the table a smile in agreement. Brittany presses her lips together, the bottom one pouting out just a little bit, as she glances at Santana. “You sure?” she directs at the whole table but her eyes never leave Santana’s, and it makes Santana feel warm all over, and the chill still in her bones from the rain finally starts to ease a little.

“Of course,” Santana says at the same time Tina and Mike nod earnestly. Brittany’s lip stops pouting as she smiles, her eyes turning catlike and bright, and Santana briefly wonders if Brittany knows exactly how adorable she is just, like, all the time. Brittany quickly divests her self of her jacket and hangs it right beside Santana’s on the coat rack attached to the wall dividing the booths; Sam gently helps Mercedes out of hers, before carelessly shrugging off his as well.

Brittany gasps as she slides along the booth, quickly standing awkwardly and hovering above the seat, her knees bent under the table as she stares at the fabric beneath her. “It’s wet?” She turns to Santana with a look so adorably confused that Santana’s lips curl up into a smile.

“Sorry,” Santana says, nodding out the window where the rain is still pelting the city with everything it’s got; she’s pretty sure her limp hair and soaked clothes do the rest of the explaining. 

Brittany just giggles, reaching over to tug playfully on a damp curl of dark hair; it makes Santana’s breath catch for a reason she doesn’t quite understand. “You should know better than to leave your apartment without an umbrella,” Brittany says seriously, but her blue eyes are sparkling brighter than anything Santana’s ever seen, “You never know when you need it to keep the cats and dogs away.”

It surprises a laugh out of Santana and she tries to cover it by rolling her eyes, though she knows she doesn’t quite succeed. Brittany giggles, tugging her hat off her head and using to swipe at the drops of water that haven’t yet soaked the fabric of seat, drying it for her and Mercedes. Her blonde hair is staticky and sticking up in wild patterns and Santana ignores the urge to smooth it down. Brittany pulls the hat back on her head and finally sits down, scooting along the booth seat until her shoulder and arm and hip are pressed to Santana’s, allowing Mercedes to slide in next. 

The waitress appears out of nowhere to take the newcomers orders. “I didn’t realize these three have other friends,” she teases, gesturing at her regulars. Said regulars’ protests are covered up the other’s laughter, and the waitress waits until they’ve all calmed down before she smiles around the table. “What can I get for the rest of you?”

Mercedes glances around the table, only now seeming to realize that she doesn’t have a menu. “Uh, what do you suggest?” she directs back at the waitress. 

“Why don’t you ask these three, hon,” the waitress suggests with a fond grin, “I’m pretty sure they know the menu better than I do.”

Mike immediately starts recommending dishes to Mercedes and Sam, launching into what is practically a recitation of the menu, but Brittany turns to look at Santana instead, and Santana sucks in a sharp breathe when she realizes how close Brittany’s face actually is to hers. There’s a spattering of fading freckles across Brittany’s nose and crowding up by the amber-coloured roots of her lower lashes, and this close she can see the tiny licks of cobalt blue against the cerulean of her eyes. “What do you suggest?” Brittany says quietly while Sam debates with the rest of the table whether he’s craving pancakes or an omelet, and her voice shocks Santana out of the daze she fell into.

“The Sunshine Special,” Santana says automatically, “It’s my favourite.”

Something in Brittany’s eyes shifts and her lips curl into a small smile as she turns to the waitress and asks for _the Sunshine Special and a glass of orange juice, please_. She turns back to Santana with something teasing in her smile as she reaches forwards and takes Santana’s cup of coffee, bringing it to smirking lips as she takes a sip. Santana gasps in mock outrage. “You’re flirting with death there, Pierce,” Santana warns.

Brittany’s grin just widens as she puts the coffee cup back down. “I’ll take my chances,” she says with a wink.

Santana shakes her head even as something curls and flutters in her chest. “You’re lucky I’m too tired to fight you,” she snarks.

Brittany bursts into bright, guileless laughter. “You’re, like, tiny,” Brittany teases, “I could fit you in my pocket.”

Santana bites her lip to try and fight the smile threatening her, trying to keep up her grumpy attitude. “Watch it, blondie,” she retorts, “It’s not the size of the dog in the fight, it’s the size of the fight in the dog.” 

“Did you just quote Shania Twain at me?” Brittany laughs.

Santana’s smile escapes her and she looks at Brittany in delight, something bright and lifting filling her stomach. “Mark Twain,” she corrects.

“Is that, like, her brother?”

Santana grins and shakes her head. “Not at all.”

“Damn,” Brittany says, “I guess an a hundred and forty year gap between siblings would be a bit much.”

Santana laughs loudly at that, feeling light and delighted and just a little bit adoring. “Dork,” she accuses.

“Says the person who just quoted Mark Twain at me.”

“Rude.” Brittany’s hand creeps towards her coffee again and Santana smacks it away lightly. “Double rude,” she adds, curling her fingers protectively around her mug. Brittany just shrugs, her blue eyes sparkling brightly, and changes course to steal Santana’s water instead. 

Santana rolls her eyes but lets Brittany commandeer her water; she can feel Tina’s curious gaze on her but she resolutely doesn’t glance at her best friend, because she has a feeling she won’t be able to fight off a blush if she meets Tina’s eyes.

She tunes back into the conversation while Brittany sips on Santana’s water. She usually finds it kind of hard to feel completely comfortable around the company and crew because she spends so much time bossing them around (Tina and Mike aside, because she’s known them for far too long and walked in on far too many heated make-out sessions to feel any sense of awkwardness around them anymore). But there’s something bright and lighthearted about Mercedes and Sam and Brittany that makes her feel at ease, and it goes a long way to alleviating any awkwardness she usually feels—the fact that every time Santana manages to make Brittany laugh she feels like the luckiest person in the world doesn’t hurt.

She learns that Mercedes and Sam have been dating for only about a month, and she finds the tentative newness of their relationship sweet, even if she would never admit it. She learns that Sam does a pretty decent impression of Sean Connery, but that doesn’t stop Mercedes and Brittany from mercilessly teasing him about it. She learns that she actually went to the same huge high school as Mercedes after her and her mom moved to the city from Ohio, and they reminisce on their old, weird teachers even though the school was so big that they never had any classes together. She learns that Brittany is guilelessly tactile and before she knows it, Brittany is running her hands up and down Santana’s bare arm when she feels the goosebumps prickling Santana’s skin, trying to work warmth back into her skin. She learns that Sam and Mike met when Sam was first fitted for his Mouse King costume and he smacked Mike with his tail so hard he almost knocked Mike into a rack of snowflake costumes. She learns that Mercedes was hired for the ballet company long before anyone else at the table was, and because of that she always has all the best gossip about anything and everything related to the theatre. She learns that Brittany is about as unexcited for Christmas as Santana is when they both groan and complain at the sudden change over the speakers to from some radio station to Christmas music, and when the rest of the table start singing along to whatever classic song is crooning through the restaurant, Brittany and Santana just roll their eyes at each other and resolutely ignore their embarrassing friends. 

When all of their food arrives, it’s a jostle to get everyone’s elbows in a position where they won’t knock into each other constantly; Brittany eventually ends up pressed even closer to Santana to give Mercedes enough room to eat her breakfast sandwich without their elbows banging into the other’s, her opposite handed dominance to Santana meaning that they don’t end up having any issues eating beside each other at all.

Sam does another impression as he finishes his last bite of pancake, and when the rest of the table bursts into bright laughter and teasingly comments, Brittany’s hand lands on Santana’s thigh briefly instead of her own. Something in Santana’s chest knocks loose as she watches pink bloom in splotches across Brittany’s face, her smile bashful as she mumbles an apology to Santana with a breathy laugh. Santana’s quick to smile at Brittany and playfully tease her until that bright, bright laughter is bursting forth from her and her embarrassment starts to fade.

She meets Tina’s eyes across the table for a split second, and the amusement sparkling in her best friend’s eyes tells all Santana needs to know: She’s so screwed.


	4. so people plod on with their everyday lives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grocery shopping is boring unless someone is complaining about eggnog; Brittany and Mercedes have a good feeling about what the coming month will bring.

“Yeah, I’m just at the grocery store, mom,” Brittany deftly dodges a couple of kids chasing each other, their boots leaving trails of muddy water that Brittany tiptoes over. “I just wanted to see how he’s doing.”

Her mom sighs deeply and Brittany can hear the hesitation in the sound. “ _Not great, sweetie_ ,” she finally admits. Brittany’s stomach twists even though she was expecting it. “ _We’re taking him to his appointment later but we’re not sure._ ”

“I wish I was there,” Brittany mumbles, blinking quickly as she turns down the first empty aisle she finds. She walks to the middle and turns, staring at the rows of tea and pretending that the boxes don’t all blur together through her watering eyes, carefully cradling her phone against her shoulder so she can scratch at the skin under her eyes and catch the tears before they fall.

“ _Me too_ ,” her mom murmurs, “ _I think he misses you_.”

“I miss him too.” Brittany takes a deep breath and stares up at the ceiling lights until they dance behind her eyelids. No matter how many times she blinks them away, the tears just keep prickling her eyes until she’s quickly brushing them away. “I gotta go,” she manages thickly, “I have to be at the theatre by eleven, and I still gotta finish up here first.”

“ _Good luck tonight, sweetie_ ,” her mom says quietly, “ _I know you’ll do great, you always do._ ” Brittany manages a small smile as she swipes at her eyes again. “ _Love you_.”

“Love you too, mom. Keep me updated. Bye.” She hangs up and shoves her phone in her pocket, bouncing on her toes and willing her eyes to dry up. Some old woman clumsily enters the aisle cart first, bickering with the man behind her. Brittany takes one more deep breath before spinning on her heel and heading in the opposite direction. She picks up the rest of the stuff on the list Mercedes sent her, grabbing a canister of hot chocolate because they’re almost out of it at home and she has a feeling she’s going to need its comforting warmth in the coming days. Her phone dings and she tugs it out of her pocket with only some difficulty and sees a Snapchat from Mercedes of an empty milk jug with a sad face drawn on it in thick blue ink. She manages a small smile at her best friend’s antics and heads for the back of the store until she emerges in the dairy aisle.

Brittany sighs as she scans the rows of milk. She’s not sure what it is, but whenever it’s her time to buy groceries the store is _always_ out of the two litre jugs of milk. The two of them don’t drink enough milk to warrant a four litre jug, and Brittany always has trouble remembering to make sure the spout of the milk cartons are fully closed before putting them back in the fridge, so they end up going bad half the time. Brittany sighs as she weighs her options; maybe she’ll just pick up the four litre jug and invite the stray cats around the apartment complex in for a drink, or she could just pick up some cereal and invite Sam over, seeing as he consumes more cereal than any person Brittany’s ever met.

“You know they get embarrassed if you stare too long,” a warm voice comments idly behind her.

Brittany spins around, her stomach swooping at the move (or at the voice, it’s probably the voice, but Brittany tucks that particular thought away for later). “Santana!” she gasps.

Santana grins, a half-filled basket in the crook of her arm. She wears a different jacket then she did at breakfast yesterday, and Brittany briefly wonders if her other one is still dying. Without rain soaking her hair, and without her needing to keep it out of her face in a ponytail at the theatre, it’s soft and wavy and Brittany’s fingers itch to push it back from her face. “Fancy seeing you here,” she teases.

Brittany grins. “Do you live around here?”

“Just a couple blocks south,” Santana says, gesturing towards the bakery, “It’s like a five minute walk.”

“Cool! Me and Mercedes are like a five minute walk west!” 

Santana nods and there’s a short beat of silence that doesn’t feel nearly as awkward as Brittany thinks it probably should, considering they hadn’t even known the other existed last week and all. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Britt,” Santana says, and Brittany’s stomach swoops a little at her shortened name on Santana’s lips; Santana doesn’t even seem to realize it. “But are you feeling okay?”

Something sharp and cold arcs through Brittany’s chest. “What?” she manages.

Santana moves her basket to her the crook of her other arm, her body swaying closer to Brittany’s at the shift in the weight. “Before I came over here you just seemed really, I dunno,” she pauses, searching for the right word, “quiet, I guess. And I was wondering if everything was okay?”

Brittany automatically starts deny her words but something soft and warm in Santana’s dark eyes stops her head mid-shake and she sighs. “I have—” she hesitates, “Uh, something going on, yeah.” 

“You can tell me, Britt,” Santana says, “If you want to. I promise I won’t say anything.”

Brittany chews a little on her lip. “Are you asking this as my friend or my stage manager?”

She can see something in Santana jolt at the question, and it seems like the words burst from Santana without her realizing they’re on the tip of her tongue until it’s too late to stop them. “We’re friends?” she breathes.

Brittany swallows thickly. “Well I’d like to think we’re on our way there,” she manages.

Santana nods once, and then again, and Brittany can see her struggle to rein in whatever she’s feeling. “As friends, then,” she murmurs.

Brittany swallows and smoothes her hand over the handle of her basket where it weighs heavily on her arm. “I—” the words catch and stick in her throat before she finds herself admitting, “I don’t wanna say it out loud, in case it makes it true.”

Santana nods seriously. “Of course,” she says earnestly, “but if you do wanna talk about it, I’m always free for my favourite fairy.”

Something in Brittany’s chest loosens and she finds her self smiling a little at Santana’s words. “I’ll remember that,” she whispers. 

“Good,” Santana says, and dark eyes bore into her own for a long moment before Santana blinks and shakes herself a little, turning back to the rows of milk and taking a couple steps to the side to grab a coffee creamer. 

Brittany turns back to the milk and finally makes her decision as opens the cooler doors to grab a two litre carton of milk; if it goes bad it’s not like the grocery store is that far away, she reasons, and if there’s a chance of running into Santana again, she’ll definitely take it. There’s something softer in Santana when she’s not frazzled at the theatre and dealing with about a hundred different problems and people and complaints at once; Brittany noticed it yesterday at breakfast, and again today, and she kind of really wants to keep seeing it.

“What, no eggnog?” Santana teases as the cooler door swings shut.

“Gross.” Brittany laughs and wrinkles her nose. “It’s slimy and smells awful. Why would I willingly drink it, let alone _buy_ it with my own money?”

Santana giggles and it makes Brittany feel a little bit giddy. “My mom let me try my abuela’s homemade recipe when I was really little and apparently I _immediately_ got sick after,” she laughs, and then something strange crosses her dark eyes and her laughter dampens and flattens, like a deflating balloon.

“My Uncle Jimmy loves it,” Brittany blurts, wondering where the light in Santana’s eyes went and how she can get it back, “and that’s reason enough for me not to ever want it anywhere near my mouth. I mean, Uncle Jimmy’s great and all, but we’re pretty sure he lost his tastebuds after eating his first wife’s cooking for so long, so.”

Santana smiles a little, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, as she bumps her shoulder against Brittany’s. “I’m glad you’re not too excited for Christmas either,” she admits suddenly. “Everyone else at the theatre and Mike and Tina are all so caught up in it and I’m just,” she pauses and takes a deep breath, something melancholy flickering over her face, “not.”

Brittany bites down on her lip, adjusting her basket in the crook of her elbow. “Well, we can be humbugs together,” Brittany says, desperately hoping to chase away the crease in Santana’s brow and the slight tremble of her lips. “You know, really get into character. Kurt could probably hook us up with some sweet Grinch costumes.”

Santana looks at Brittany for a long moment and Brittany lets her, wondering what Santana’s searching for, exactly. Santana’s finally face breaks into a smile, those deep dimples creasing her cheeks and making Brittany feel that bright, fluttery feeling again. “You’d look cute in green,” Santana decides. Brittany laughs and strikes a pose, Santana’s returning laugh making relief flood her limbs. She’s barely dropped her dramatic pose when Santana sucks in a deep breath. “Can I have your number?” she asks, her words all running together and squishing as they race out of her mouth.

Brittany’s breath gets caught somewhere in her chest but she forces it away because Santana looks too shocked and embarrassed and adorable for her to focus on anything else. “Don’t you already have my number?” she teases, and the breathless, too bright look Santana gets makes Brittany smile involuntarily.

“I mean, yeah I could just look it up at the theatre but—” Santana’s teeth sink into her bottom lip and Brittany’s eyes automatically drop follow the movement. “I’d rather if you gave it to me,” Santana says shyly.

Brittany feels more than a little giddy as she nods. Santana tries not to look too eager as she reaches into her pocket, fiddling with her phone for a second before passing it to Brittany, but based on the effusive smile on Santana’s face no matter how hard she bites down on her lip, Brittany can tell she kind of fails at it. Brittany passes Santana’s phone back to her, and she’s about to offer Santana hers when Santana’s phone starts buzzing in her hands, startling both of them.

“It’s already ten thirty,” Santana says in shock.

“Huh?” Brittany says blankly. 

“We’ve both gotta be at the theatre in half an hour.” They glance at each other before spinning and racing down an empty aisle, giggling and trying to block the other one from getting ahead the whole way to the checkout lines.

When Brittany gets back to the apartment, she’s pretty sure she wears her dopiest smile, and Mercedes instant teasing when Santana texts her confirms it, but she can’t bring herself to care. There’s something about Santana that just makes her feel light and at ease, no matter what else is going on. Brittany’s never been one to worry too much about stuff like missed opportunities or whether she’ll find love or whatever, she’s always been fairly content to patiently wait and see what’s going to happen; she figures that fate probably has something in store for her, and she’s always been perfectly content with the understanding that something’s bound to eventually come her way.

But there’s something, deep in her chest where she keeps her most precious hopes and dreams, telling her that this might be what she’s been waiting for.

* * *

Brittany doesn’t see Santana again until she’s waiting in the wings during the number right before she goes on. She spots Santana first, with her head down and her heavy prompt book in her hands, furiously whispering into her headset. In her black skinny jeans and sweater she’s hard to pick out in the near pitch black shadows of backstage, and it’s only in the onstage lights spilling between the curtains that Santana becomes visible. Brittany mostly traces Santana in the pools of light and flickers of movement in the shadows. Just as Santana is passing the curtains Brittany is tucked between, she glances up and her eyes meet Brittany’s easily even through the dim lighting.

Her face lights up in that dimples-deep, nose-scrunched smile as she gives Brittany a small wave before she disappears into the shadows again. The music changes and Brittany moves into position without even realizing it, her body pulling her onto stage even though her mind is still stuck on Santana’s smile in the flashes of stage lights.

As she steps out onto stage and easily rises _en pointe_ when the first notes of _Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy_ play, she can already feel it in her bones that this is going to be one of her best performances.

* * *

Brittany’s in the middle of banging another pair of ballet shoes after the show when Santana pokes her head in the open dressing room door. “You know,” she calls conversationally over the banging, Brittany freezes in the middle of smacking her shoe against the wall and turns towards Santana with a bright grin. Santana’s sweater is long gone, leaving her in a black t-shirt and jeans, and she really has no right to look that good in something so simple. “Your dressing room is the only door I don’t have to knock on since you do all the work for me.”

Brittany rolls her eyes and gives the shoe one more smack for good measure. “Well then I should be getting some of your salary then.”

Santana snorts. “As if, you make more than I do.”

Brittany shrugs and points towards the bucket of melting ice sitting in front of her couch. “More pain, more money.”

“I dunno,” Santana drawls, a small smirk on her face, “you ever have to deal with the sound guys?”

Brittany winkles her nose up. “God, that’s worse than drinking eggnog.”

Santana’s façade drops and she bursts into laughter. “I can’t believe it but you’re right, I would totally drink eggnog before I’d willingly deal with any of the sound guys.”

“We should have picked up eggnog today then,” Brittany muses as she collapses onto the couch, tossing her shoe on the coffee table. Santana chuckles and holds up the notebook in her hands, waving it around a bit with a smirk. Brittany claps her hands together, clasping them in front of her chest excitedly as she sits up properly. “Our first note session together!”

“Well, I barely have any notes for you,” Santana says around a small laugh as she falls onto the couch beside Brittany. “You did _amazing_ tonight.”

Brittany feels heat crawl under her cheeks and she shrugs, trying to wave it off. “Thanks,” she mumbles, ducking her head down.

“No, really, Britt,” Santana says earnestly. “I mean I’ve seen the other shows and I knew you were an amazing dancer but tonight you just,” she trails off and shrugs. “Tonight you proved what I had a suspicion of from that first show. You’re the most amazing dancer I’ve ever seen, but tonight you were even more beautiful, like you were glowing or something.”

Brittany flusters and feels a little bit like her body has shut down, butterflies beating against her ribs until she almost feels like she’s trembling with them. “Thank you,” she murmurs, glancing up at Santana under her eyelashes to find that Santana has that same dimples-deep smile as earlier. She swallows her shyness and finally meets Santana’s eyes, losing her train of thought for a split second before she blinks out of her daze. “But you’ve still gotta have some notes for me,” she manages. 

Santana nods easily and flips through the notebook for a while. “Um, it’s just some small blocking things for the _Pas de Deux_ ,” Santana explains. Brittany leans closer on the couch to read the notebook over Santana’s shoulder; Santana’s breath hitches a little when Brittany’s hair brushes across her bare arm. Brittany murmurs her apologies and quickly gathers her hair into a messy bun, snapping the elastic around her wrist into place to keep her hair out of their way. “It’s fine, just ticklish,” Santana mumbles after a long pause, “Anyways, these notes are mostly for Jake when he enters the stage. He’s been a little out of place the past few shows and it’s messing up the music cues, I think something with his costume is tripping him up a little because he seems to be moving awkwardly, but I’ll talk to him and Kurt about it tomorrow morning. The only issue from tonight was that your bow ran a little longer than normal, but that was because the audience wouldn’t quiet down,” Santana shoots Brittany a small smile, “Not that I blame them.”

Brittany rolls her eyes and leans back into the couch. “Oh hush, you,” she mumbles. She wants to press her hands to her cheeks to pat her blush away, but she has a feeling that would just make it even more obvious.

Santana does let it go, much to Brittany’s relief; she’s pretty sure if her cheeks heat up any more she might actually burst into flames.

A knock at the door draws their attention to Mercedes, already bundled up in her jacket, her purse slung over her shoulder. “Come on, girl, it’s already so late,” she complains when she takes in Brittany sprawled on the couch, out of her costume but not in her street clothes yet. She has her sweats on, but she’s still in her bodysuit. 

“Hey,” Brittany protests, “I had to sew a new pair of shoes tonight.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes. “That can wait until before the show tomorrow and we both know it.” Brittany groans and forces herself to stand, heading towards the corner of her dressing room where her sweater and jacket are thrown. Mercedes shakes her head and glances at Santana. “How’d the show go today?” she asks.

Santana shrugs. “The snow corps missed their cue and were late coming in, and it took both me _and_ Zizes whisper screaming through the headsets until Schue realized. And the sound supervisor decided I needed a ten minute lecture while I was giving him notes.”

Mercedes’ face scrunches up in confusion. “A lecture about what?”

Santana shrugs and pushes herself off the couch. “Beats me, I tuned him out mid-way through the first sentence.”

Brittany snorts from the other side of the dressing room, her head just reappearing from the collar of her sweater. “I’m surprised you could even _hear_ the first sentence around his bowtie.”

Mercedes and Santana both burst into laughter. “You’ve got a snarky streak there, Pierce,” Santana calls teasingly. Brittany just winks at her, savouring how Santana flusters for a moment, before she shrugs her jacket on and slips into her sneakers. Santana checks her watch and sighs. “I gotta go and see if I can catch Karofsky before he leaves. There was some issue with the Stahlbaum’s House fly and it ended up hovering a foot above stage the entire scene,” she explains with an eye roll, “I’m hoping he’s fixed it because otherwise I have to come in here far too early tomorrow.” Mercedes and Brittany offer her sympathetic noises and Santana grins at them. “See you tomorrow. Night, Mercedes. Night, Britt,” she calls as she heads down the hallway.

As soon as she’s out of sight, Mercedes gives Brittany a look that’s far too giddy and knowing for her own good. “ _Britt_?” she teases.

Brittany shoves at Mercedes to shoo her out of the dressing room, shutting off the lights and locking the door before she answers her best friend.

“It’s a nickname,” she says, “you know. Shortened version of my name.”

Mercedes laughs and loops their arms together as they head down the hallway. “Yes, I know _that_ , but I mean it’s _Santana_.”

Brittany knows her blush gives her away, so she refuses to give Mercedes the satisfaction of looking at her. “Anyone can give me a nickname,” she says easily.

Mercedes tugs on their looped arms. “Puh- _lease_ ,” she drawls, “you and I both know that there’s something there.”

Brittany shrugs noncommittally. “Something very often turns out to be nothing,” she argues. 

Mercedes softens a little. “If you like her as much as I think you do, and as much as she seems to like you too, I think you should just go for it.” Brittany shrugs, but before she can respond Mercedes quickly squeezes their arms together. “I mean, I know she’s the production stage manager, and if you’re worried about that or something I already checked and there’s no policies against it, at all.” Brittany smiles softly and glances at Mercedes, feeling a surge of affection for her best friend who’s always looking out for her. “And the only other thing is theatre gossip, which I know you don’t listen to anyways, and it’s not like you could sleep your way to a principal spot like people might accuse you of because you already have that spot. And you didn’t even _know_ Santana at the time of casting, so.”

“I appreciate it Mercedes, I really, really, really do. But I kind of just want to see where it goes,” Brittany says, “You know me. If it’s meant to happen then it will. I don’t wanna force it, you know?”

Mercedes studies Brittany for a very long moment before she gives her a small smile. “I have a good feeling about it,” she finally admits.

Brittany sighs, light and airy and hopeful, her lips curling up just a little bit. “So do I,” she whispers.


	5. but some are sick of this grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina and Santana have a long talk; Santana wishes she was better at comforting people.

“If that’s anyone besides Santana don’t you dare come in!”

Santana rolls her eyes and eases the door open, finding Tina standing in front of the mirror of her vanity wearing only her tights and sports bra. “You know it’s a little suspicious that I’m allowed in here when you’re half-naked but your boyfriend’s not,” she comments idly.

Santana can see Tina roll her eyes in the mirror as she touches the mascara brush to her eyes one more time before capping the tube and dropping it on top of the pile of her makeup. “Mike doesn’t knock.”

“Still,” Santana repeats teasingly, “suspicious.” 

Tina huffs out a laugh as she shakes her head. “Sure it is, you’re like the only other person who ever comes down here that’s not another principal or a dresser,” she says easily.

Santana hums in agreement. “And I’ve seen you in less, so,” she teases.

Tina just rolls her eyes as she tugs a loose shirt, turning and leaning her hip against the vanity, her arms crossed with a grin. “So is this an official visit?”

“Why do you need to know?”

“I wanna know if I can make fun of you or not.”

Santana snorts out a laugh. “As if it matters, we both know you’ll make fun of me either way,” she complains. Tina concedes with a wide, knowing grin. “But I have a couple notes to go over,” Santana continues, smacking the palm of her right hand with her notebook as she makes herself at home on Tina’s couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “So come sit.”

Tina laughs and crosses the room to collapse on the couch beside her best friend. Santana quickly flips through her notebook until she finds the pages she’s looking for, going over some blocking issues and a music cue that Schue missed last show that threw Tina off a little bit. Once she’s done she groans and lets her head loll onto the back of the couch, trying to roll out the tension in her neck. “I need a coffee,” she decides.

Tina smiles. “Lucky for you, Brittany went on a coffee run not too long ago, and she dropped an extra one off with me on the off chance that you dropped by.”

Santana’s smile is involuntary, and she tries not to let it be known how warm her cheeks are, but Tina’s not her best friend for nothing and she smirks at Santana knowingly as she crosses to the vanity to grab the two coffees sitting there.

“You got time to sit and drink it?” Tina asks.

Santana checks her watch as Tina hands over her coffee. “I mean, probably not, but no one should be unlucky enough to see me until I’m properly caffeinated, so sure.”

Tina laughs and resettles on the couch. “Good, I feel like I’ve barely seen you despite the fact that we’re in the same building like nine hours a day.” Santana grunts in acknowledgement as she gulps down a long sip of coffee, pleasantly surprised to find that it tastes exactly how she likes it; it’s far more lukewarm than hot, but just the fact that Brittany thought of her when getting coffee makes warmth settle in her stomach anyways. “I know we haven’t had time to talk about it since Thanksgiving,” Tina continues, “but did you think about Christmas?”

Santana sighs and drops her coffee to rest in her lap, shaking her head. “I appreciate the offer, but I think I’ll just stay home.” She doesn’t add the _again_ , but they can both hear it, too loud in the following silence.

“You sure?” Tina murmurs, “My parents would love to have you. They haven’t stopped talking about the _flan de queso_ you brought to Thanksgiving, and they keep asking if you’ve accepted the invitation yet.”

Santana shrugs uncomfortably. “You know I’m not great company this time of year,” she says. 

Tina sighs but she knows Santana well enough to know when to drop it. They sip their coffee silently for a long moment, before Tina turns expectantly towards Santana. “Wanna know the latest gossip?” she whispers dramatically.

Santana laughs and sits up a little more, more than grateful for the change in subject, turning towards Tina and feeling like they’re back in their college dorm, sitting cross-legged on their beds and talking about everything and nothing. “Always. I gotta keep track of whatever dumbass decisions this company makes. Remember how awkward _Sister Act_ was our second year of college?”

“God!” Tina laughs, “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you turn so red than when Kate and Christian started going at it!”

“How the fuck was I supposed to know that they broke up the night before?” Santana protests, her voice bright with amusement. “They weren’t even in the scene together and somehow they managed to mortify me, the company, our professor, _and_ the entire audience.”

“I’ve never seen you so lost for words before, but the look on your face when you had to chase after Christian and actually get on stage in the middle of the scene to physically restrain them? Priceless!”

Santana rolls her eyes at herself. “I was so scared Hagberg was going to fail me, but she just bought me a box of chocolates instead.” She takes a sip of her coffee before looking expectantly at Tina. “Now, what do I need to know about here to avoid being forced to jump on stage in the middle of _The Nutcracker_?”

Tina grins and sets her coffee down on the coffee table, and that’s how Santana knows she’s about to get a list of gossip a mile long. She feels like she needs to write down a list of all the connections, but she also has a feeling that it would get so tangled and convoluted it would be near impossible to understand. Rachel and Finn have a messy on-again-off-again relationship that somehow Quinn, that St. James guy from sound, _and_ Brody from maintenance have _all_ gotten mixed up in at some point; Puck and Quinn refuse to talk to each other unless absolutely necessary; Kurt and Blaine had a messy breakup and Karofsky somehow ended up caught up in it; Schue’s ex-wife showed up near the start of rehearsals claiming to be pregnant with his baby, and it made things super awkward when Emma, his new girlfriend, showed up at the same time; Shelby from the pit band was caught making out with Puck the second month of rehearsals; Sue, the theatrical producer, and Schue have a nasty rivalry still ongoing despite the fact that no one, not even them, know how or when it started; Kitty, The Snow Queen, dated Artie before he was hired, and then it got weird and they broke up and now don’t speak; Jane, Brittany’s understudy, and Mason, Mike’s understudy, have adorable but obvious crushes on each other, but both of them are too shy to do anything about it; Zizes once dated Puck, which makes Santana’s head spin because Zizes is pretty cool and Puck is so slimy. 

Santana shakes her head slowly as she taps her empty coffee cup against her thigh. “This is insane,” she mutters. “I need a spreadsheet and seven hours just to figure half of this out.”

Tina laughs. “It’s pretty messy,” she agrees, “And it’s all only happened since we started rehearsals.” 

Santana chews on her lip, wondering if she should even ask the question she so desperately wants to know, but before she can debate it she’s already asking it. She wishes she could blame her lack of filter on her exhaustion, but she finished her coffee ages ago. “What about Brittany?” she blurts, aiming for nonchalant but landing somewhere far past too-invested.

“Apparently she dated Artie for a little bit when they were in college, but she always conveniently ‘forgets’ that.” Tina laughs, her eyes sparkling knowingly as she regards her best friend. “But I haven’t heard of her dating anyone since we started rehearsals _months_ ago, inside the company or out.”

Santana tries desperately to remain calm and collected with that information, but she can’t hide the way her stomach flips or the smile she’s fighting. “Cool,” she manages, leaning forward to put her empty coffee cup on the table and avoiding Tina’s eyes.

“What about you? Meet any nice girls lately?” Tina teases, grinning widely at how obvious Santana is about her little crush. “Besides Brittany,” she whispers, deftly dodging Santana’s flailing arm as she reaches out to smack her.

Santana draws back and rolls her eyes so hard that she shakes her head a little. “As if. You know I’m too busy with work.”

Tina just stares blankly at Santana, a thoroughly unimpressed look in her eyes. “Santana, I mean this from the bottom of my heart, but that’s bullshit. Work isn’t your entire life.” Santana scoffs but Tina doesn’t let her shut down. “Listen, I totally understand if you just don’t feel like dating anyone right now, but you can’t use work as an excuse.”

“Hey, I went on a date when I was covering for the stage manager on Anastasia back in August!” Santana protests, but as soon as the words leave her mouth she knows it’s a weak argument.

“What? The girl from that startup band? You went on _one_ date and never mentioned her again,” Tina says, and Santana knows that, no matter how much she wants to protest, she can’t argue that point. “What was even her name?”

Santana opens her mouth but finds her mind has gone completely blank. “Uh, Dina?”

“Dana?”

“No wait, wasn’t it like a unisex name or something? Daniel?”

“Daniella?”

“Dani!” Santana shouts, snapping her fingers and pointing at Tina with a proud grin for finally remembering the name. “It was Dani!”

“Right!” Tina’s satisfied expression turns sly. “You know, this just proves my point. You need to find a nice girl whose name you can actually remember. Like maybe _Brittany_.”

“Oh, shut up,” Santana says with an eye roll, flustered and bashful. 

There’s movement from the hallway, the sound of someone dropping something bouncy and heavy footsteps as they chase after it. Tina quickly stands up and crosses the dressing room, sticking her head out into the hallway and looking both ways; if someone just broke a prop she feels the need to warn them before Santana finds out and goes on the war path. When she doesn’t see anyone she just shrugs and closes the door. “You’re not getting out of this conversation,” Tina threatens as she turns around.

Santana plays with the notebook in her hands. “I’m too busy with still learning this show, you know that.”

Tina studies her for a long moment and Santana fidgets under her scrutiny. “I’m not going to push it,” Tina says slowly, “But I think you deserve to let yourself be happy.” Santana sucks in a quick breath and resolutely doesn’t look at Tina. Her first instinct is to argue and get defensive, but she can’t quite get the words to form in her mouth. Tina sighs and crosses back to the couch, sitting down beside Santana a little closer than she normally would, ducking her head down under Santana’s until Santana is forced to meet her eyes. “It’s been four years,” she whispers, “She would want you to be happy. Whether that’s with some nice girl or with some new hobby or whatever, it doesn’t really matter. But this,” Tina pauses and Santana’s eyes cut away from hers, “this relentless, constant pace you’ve set for yourself isn’t healthy. When was the last time you actually took time off that wasn’t a no show day?”

Santana can feel the tremble in her chin and she chokes down the thickness she can feel in her throat, choking her. Tina shifts on the couch until she can wrap an arm around Santana and draw her into her embrace. She wants to struggle against her best friend’s arm, but Tina’s always given the best hugs. “I just don’t want to see you burnout,” Tina continues.

Santana lets herself be held for a moment before she shakes Tina off and stands abruptly. “I’ve gotta finish giving notes,” she rasps.

Tina sighs but nods. “Half hour is coming up soon anyways,” she agrees, “And I’ve gotta get Kurt to fix some things on my skirt.”

Santana ducks her head as she crosses the room, barely giving Tina a second glance. Tina just shakes her head and lets her friend go, staring at the empty coffee cups on the coffee table and hoping that she didn’t just cause Santana to close herself off again.

“Tina,” Santana suddenly calls from the doorway, waiting until Tina glances up at her before continuing, “I know you worry. I’m just— Work keeps my mind off of her, you know? When I’m busy I don’t think about her as much, especially this month.” Tina’s face crumples a little and she nods in understanding. “But you’re right, I could probably use a break,” she admits, “The next no show day is Monday. We should actually do something, all three of us, instead of me spending the my only day off working anyways. Maybe we can go to the mall and do some Christmas shopping?”

Tina brightens and smiles. “That sounds really good,” she says.

Santana shifts awkwardly before giving her friend a small smile. “Thanks for— For looking out for me, or whatever.”

Tina laughs, knowing that sometimes it’s best to just let Santana stumble through her emotions without too much teasing. “It’s practically my second job by this point,” she says easily, “Now you better go and finish yours.”

Santana rolls her eyes but sends Tina a fond, grateful smile before slipping out the door and heading down the principal hallway towards the stage.

* * *

As the evening wears on, Santana decides to just give notes before the show tomorrow because she’s so tired from running around the entire show trying to deal with the technical issues they’ve been having with the flies. Karofsky still has no idea what is happening with them, even after him and Santana messed with them for about forty minutes after the show. He offered to stay even later to try and fix them, and while Santana appreciated the offer, she just sent him and the rest of the automaton crew home, telling them meet her a couple hours earlier than usual tomorrow so they can figure it out.

She’s not sure why she ends up in the principal hallway; she knows Mike and Tina have already left, and she doesn’t have anything she needs to check on since she’s giving notes tomorrow, but her feet lead her down the stairs before she realizes where she’s going. She figures she’ll just check in on whoever is still lingering down there, but because she’s alone she can’t quite hide the fact that she’s only really hoping to check in with one person.

Most of the doors are closed and locked as she wanders down the hallway. She runs into Mason, who is just heading out after looking around for Mike to ask him a couple questions. Santana chats with him for a little bit and promises to let Mike know he was looking for him before waving goodbye and heading further down the hallway. The lights are a little dimmed, and as she heads for the end of the hallway she can hear a muffled conversation. She slows as she approaches the only door that’s cracked open; the lights to Brittany’s dressing room cast the hallway around her door a little brighter, and Santana stops just before she reaches the door.

She’s about to turn around and leave, figuring she can just talk to Brittany talk tomorrow when she’s giving notes, it’s not like she ever has many to give her anyways so she’ll definitely be able to spend a couple extra minutes with her just talking, when she hears a sniffle. She freezes and waits for a long moment, Brittany’s voice distorted and muffled by her door. When she hears that sniffle again, followed by a choked sob, something in Santana’s chest shifts and shatters a little at the sound.

She’s pushing the door open and entering the dressing room before she realizes it, and Brittany glances up at her in shock. They stand there staring, wide-eyed and worried, at each other for long drawn out moments. Brittany still has her phone pressed to her ear, tears streaming down her face and making her skin shine wetly against the redness blotching her face. “Uh, I’ll call you back, mom,” she mumbles, and now that her voice isn’t muffled by the door Santana can hear exactly how tight and wet it is. “No, no, it’s fine. Just the stage manager. I’ll call you when I get home.” She pauses, sniffling, while her mom says something over the phone. “Yeah, I will. Love you too.” She hangs up and suddenly Santana becomes aware of how rude it was for her to barge into Brittany’s dressing room like that, but she looks so heartsick that Santana can’t find it in herself to regret it; no one should be alone when they look so miserable.

“Sorry,” Brittany chokes, scrubbing furiously at her face, “I was just—”

“No, Britt,” Santana interrupts, taking a couple quick steps forward, “I’m sorry for eavesdropping and barging in here but are— Are you okay?”

Brittany looks about ready say yes, even though they both know how obvious of a lie it would be, before her face falls and she slowly shakes her head. Something deep in Santana’s chest _aches_ at the look on Brittany’s face.

“Was this— Was this the thing you were sad about yesterday?” Santana whispers. Brittany nods hopelessly and Santana sucks in a breath. “Oh, Britt, I’m really sorry.” Brittany gives her a small wavering smile, but it drops as her eyes fall to the floor. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Brittany takes a deep, steadying breath. “I— Um— That was my mom,” she manages to whisper, “They just had to put our cat down.” Santana sucks in a breath; she’s never had a pet before, they were too expensive and high maintenance for her mom, who was a full time shift worker, when they lived in Ohio, and their apartment didn’t allow pets once they moved to New York, but she remembers how devastating it was when Tina’s family had to put down their dog in their second year of college. “He’s just— We’ve had him since I was eight,” Brittany explains in a croak, “He’s been in our family longer than my sister has. And I— Sometimes I had a hard time at school with— Schoolwork and making friends and whatever. But he was just a cat, you know? He didn’t care if I was failing math or if Katie stopped talking to me, he just wanted treats and snuggles.”

“Britt, I’m so sorry,” Santana whispers, feeling completely and utterly inadequate. “I don’t— I’m just sorry.”

Brittany sniffles and blinks rapidly. When her eyes meet Santana’s they’re too bright and shiny and Santana wants so desperately to take away the grief cracking the beautiful blue there. “He’s been really sick for a couple weeks,” she explains, “But I haven’t been able to go home and see him because of the show and I’m just— I wish I could have seen him one more time before— Before—” she chokes herself off.

“Do you want a hug?” Santana blurts without thinking.

“What?” Brittany croaks. 

Santana suddenly remembers that she’s technically only known this woman for five days, despite the fact that they spend most of their waking hours in the same building and seem to have an uncanny ability to run into each other outside of the theatre and that it feels a little bit like she’s known Brittany for years. “I— Never mind. I just— You looked so sad and— I mean hugs usually help so,” Santana trails off lamely. 

Brittany chokes on a sob and nods. “A hug would be nice.”

Santana breathes out a sigh of relief that she didn’t just creep Brittany out and takes the last few steps to Brittany, hoping that a hug will make her feel better, even if it’s just for a moment. She hesitantly opens her arms and Brittany immediately falls into her; she fits against Santana easily, their ribs locking together as Brittany clings to her, muffling her sobs against Santana’s shoulder and neck. Santana sighs and soothingly runs her hands over Brittany’s back, just letting Brittany cry without saying anything, knowing how cathartic it can be to just let someone else take your weight for a while.

She’s not sure how, but they eventually end up huddled together on the couch, and Santana keeps her arms around Brittany until she sighs and swallows thickly, wiping at her eyes with trembling fingers. “This is just another reason December and Christmastime sucks,” she mutters. 

Santana hesitates for a moment before tightening her arm around Brittany; Brittany melts further into Santana’s embrace, boneless and heavy, and any awkwardness Santana feels nudging at her consciousness eases. “You’ve got that right,” she sighs.


	6. sure we’ll be laughed at, but we all know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany’s never believed theatre rumours; Brittany really doesn’t like bullies.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for minor homophobia.

Brittany wakes up to the faint smell of bacon and hash-browns. She’s disorientated for a second, wondering how in the world her window managed to change walls in the middle of the night and when her pale yellow sheets turned grey, before she realizes that she’s curled up in Mercedes’ bed, the afghan that’s usually draped over the foot of the bed tangled around her shoulders under the comforter. The skin of her face feels raw and tight, the kind of tightness that comes from not wiping away her tears before falling asleep, and she’s somehow still exhausted despite her deep, dreamless sleep. She can hear Mercedes in the kitchen, frying pans knocking together and the kettle screaming, and Brittany sighs and buries her face in one of the pillows thrown around the head of the bed; it smells like Mercedes’ lavender shampoo, and a hint of Sam’s cologne and her own honeysuckle and jasmine body wash from when they all have movie nights and curl up in Mercedes’ room because she has the comfiest mattress. Brittany breathes in deeply, hoping the scents she’s always associated with her best friends will soothe her.

It doesn’t really manage to take her mind off Lord Tubbington though.

The door eases open and Brittany can tell Mercedes is hovering in the doorway, debating whether to wake Brittany or let her sleep.

“Morning,” Brittany croaks, making the decision for her.

Mercedes sighs, so softly that Brittany barely hears it, and crosses the room, settling on the bed somewhere by Brittany’s hip. She hesitates for a moment, but before Brittany can say anything, her warm body is pressing to Brittany in a fierce hug; she smells of breakfast food and coffee and _clean_ from her morning shower. Brittany sighs and sinks back into the embrace. “How are you feeling?” Mercedes whispers.

Brittany manages a little shrug. “I dunno. Sad and, like, empty, I guess. Like when you’re really, really hungry in the middle of the night and you can feel how empty your stomach is empty, except everywhere.”

Mercedes nuzzles closer, and Brittany can picture her face, her brows drawn a little together and the skin around her mouth tight. “I’m so sorry, Britt-Britt,” she whispers.

“Thanks,” Brittany mumbles. 

Mercedes is quiet for a moment while Brittany stares blankly out the window. It’s surprisingly clear out, sunbeams streaming through the thin curtains and making swirling patterns on the carpet. “You could take the day off,” Mercedes suggests finally.

Brittany shrugs. “I dunno,” she mumbles, “I just want the day to be normal, you know?” Mercedes hums against her shoulder in acknowledgement. “Besides, dancing always helps me forget about everything, and I kinda need that right now, you know?”

Mercedes hums again, and Brittany sighs. She doesn’t really feel teary anymore, just tired and empty and lonely, even with Mercedes pressing comfortingly all along her back, breathing in sync with her. Eventually Mercedes crawls off the bed and tugs Brittany up after her, and they both follow their noses back to the kitchen where Mercedes has breakfast set up all along the counter, a mug of steaming hot chocolate sitting in front of Brittany’s stool at the kitchen island, whipped cream piled so high it hasn’t even melted all the way in yet. Brittany smiles at Mercedes’ back, feeling warmth curl in her chest, grateful that she has a best friend who knows her so well. They dish up breakfast quietly before settling into their usual spots breakfast spots and eat in comfortable silence.

“I forgot to ask last night, because of— Everything,” Mercedes finally says, “But how did you get home? I didn’t realize my phone was on silent until this morning and I’m so sorry if you tried to call me for a ride.”

“Oh, no it’s fine,” Brittany shrugs a little and pokes at her eggs, “Santana and I shared an Uber home.” She points to the southeast, where their front door is, with a forkful of eggs. “She lives like ten-ish minutes that way.”

“That’s nice of her,” Mercedes says, smiling just a little bit at Brittany.

Brittany feels the corner of her lip turn up in return, just a little bit, and the ache in her chest eases at the warm smile on Mercedes face. “Yeah,” she says simply.

Mercedes hums and, despite the slight smirk tugging on her lips, she remains silent. Brittany insists on cleaning up since Mercedes did all the cooking, before she heads to her room and calls her mom. Her mom puts her on speakerphone with her dad and her sister, and they spend most of the morning reminiscing on Lord Tubbington’s antics. By the end of it Brittany finds herself feeling a little bit better; talking about how much they all loved Tubbs and laughing about how many times food would suddenly go missing and Tubbs would suddenly get fatter makes her feel lighter, until the ache behind her eyes is almost gone. And when Mercedes knocks quietly on her door so they can head to the theatre, Brittany doesn’t feel quite so alone anymore.

* * *

Mercedes has to go talk to Kurt about something as soon as they get there, so Brittany ends up wandering the theatre by herself after they check in at the call board. She stops in at her favourite rehearsal room in the hopes that she can blast some music and forget about everything for a little while before she has to start warm ups with the company, but instead finds Jake and Jane practicing the _Pas de Deux_ from the second act. They call out greetings to her and she waves at them before heading back the way she came.

“Hey, Brittany!”

Brittany glances over her shoulder and finds Puck coming up behind her, his arms full of props. “Hey,” she greets quietly.

“Do you mind giving me a hand?” he asks, and Brittany quickly relieves him of the box blocking his view. “Thanks,” he pants, “I thought I could do it all in one trip, but I don’t want Lopez seeing me and going all crazy spicy Latina on me again for dropping something like she did last time.”

Brittany’s nose wrinkles up. “That’s racist,” she says idly.

Puck doesn’t seem to have heard her; he never does when she calls him out on something. “Speaking of Lopez, did you hear?” he asks, obnoxiously waggling his eyebrows at her. Brittany frowns at him; he looks a little bit like a cartoon character, struggling to see past the props still in his arms, his dumb mohawk stuck to his sweaty forehead, a smirk tugging at his lips that Brittany recognizes as the lecherous leer he gets whenever a new dancer—especially those without any knowledge of his reputation—joins the company. “There’s a rumour going around that she plays for the other team, if you know what I mean,” he says in a stage whisper.

“I’m pretty sure she only works here,” Brittany says tiredly, “it’s part of her contract.”

“Not like her job, Brittany,” Puck explains slowly, and because Brittany is trailing behind him to fit through the entryway that leads to one of the back hallways of the theatre, he doesn’t see her roll her eyes. “Like _who she takes to bed_ type of team.”

Brittany’s not quite sure what to say to that, not because she thinks of Santana any differently now, but because she’s pretty sure this is not something Santana wants floating around the theatre; despite working in the arts, Brittany’s encountered a surprising amount of homophobia, and something about Puck’s leer makes Brittany’s skin crawl.

“Did you hear me?” Puck asks, looking around a candy cane prop blocking his view so he can catch Brittany’s eye, it kind of makes Brittany want to take said candy cane and start beating him with it. 

“Yeah, I’m just trying to process how gross you are.”

Puck smirks. “What can I say? Lopez is hot, I’m sure she has hot taste in women, and I like hot things.”

The urge to beat him with the candy cane is growing almost too strong to ignore now; Brittany’s never been particularly prone to violence, and she’s not sure if it’s her grief over Lord Tubbington messing with her emotions, the fact that she likes Santana and hates that there’s already rumours going around about her, the fact that she hates bullies, or some combination of all three, but she’s pretty sure if they don’t reach the prop room soon she’s going to snap.

“Wow,” Brittany says slowly, “You might just be the dumbest person on Earth.”

Puck just shrugs. “Maybe,” he agrees easily, smirking, “But I heard it from Finn who heard it from Santana herself.”

“Why was Santana talking to Finn?” Brittany wonders aloud. Finn’s half-way decent about thirteen percent of the time, and Brittany’s pretty sure his partial decency only exists because he sleeps about thirteen percent of the time.

“She wasn’t, he was down in the principal hallway bringing some extra Christmas ornaments up from storage and he overheard Lopez and Tina talking. Tina was asking if Lopez had been on any dates lately,” Puck pauses until Brittany glances at him before he finishes, delighted like a kid waiting up for Santa on Christmas Eve, “With a girl.”

Brittany shrugs. “Your point?”

“With a _girl_ ,” he emphasizes, a far off look in his eyes that makes Brittany feel like she needs a shower, “Like a _lesbian_.”

“Puck that’s gross,” Brittany says.

“No, it’s hot,” he leers.

Brittany scowls at him. “No, I mean _you’re_ gross for being a creep.”

Puck shrugs. “What can I say? I’m a guy.” Brittany dumps the box she’s carrying on top of the pile in Puck’s hands, making him stagger under the unexpected weight. “Hey! I thought you were helping!”

Brittany just shrugs as she spins on her heel and walks back the way they came. “I don’t really think I can provide the _help_ you need,” she deadpans over her shoulder.

* * *

She doesn’t see Santana at all before the show, not even for notes, but she hears the whispers of gossip that Puck mentioned as she heads for the stage during intermission. It makes her blood boil, especially after last night because her emotions are still a little all over the place. She can feel the angry creeping along her fingers and sticking to her stomach, and she can’t quite control the scowl she gives some of the snow corps as she walks past them; they’re the group who is almost always at the root of any rumour.

But before she can do more than glare at them for their whispers, she’s running into something warm and solid and groaning. Her hands automatically reach out to steady the source of the groaning, and then deep, dark eyes are locking on her own.

“Brittany,” Santana says breathlessly, “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.” Brittany easily shrugs, searching Santana’s face for any sign she’s heard the rumours about herself, but Santana’s face is only open and warm and concerned. Brittany suddenly realizes that her hands are still on Santana’s shoulders and she hurriedly pulls them back to her, playing with the hem of her tutu. Santana quickly pushes her headset off of her ears until it’s hanging around her neck, giving Brittany her full attention; it makes Brittany feel vulnerable and important, because she can hear the tinny sound of voices through the headset, but Santana barely seems to notice them. “How are you?” Santana asks, her voice quiet and more tender than Brittany’s ever heard someone’s voice go.

That sharp ache of pain arcs through Brittany’s chest, but she manages a small smile. “I’m good,” she says.

Santana’s face changes a little bit, like she doesn’t quite believe Brittany but doesn’t want to say anything. She leans closer, her voice even quieter. “It’s okay if you’re not,” she whispers, “I get it. I would have understood if you hadn’t come in today.”

Brittany’s breath catches a little bit, like someone reached into her chest and squeezed, and she’s suddenly blinking back tears. “I wanted something normal today,” she finally admits, “You know, to keep my mind off it.”

Santana’s hand suddenly brushes over hers, and the ache in Brittany’s chest eases just a little bit at the gentle squeeze of Santana’s fingers around hers. “I get that,” she murmurs. Brittany’s eyes catch in the deepest groove of Santana’s for a moment and Brittany can see exactly how _true_ Santana’s words are; Brittany’s a little glad when Santana’s eyes dart away because those dark eyes make her feel like a little bit like she’s free falling from an airplane without a parachute, a little bit dangerous and a little bit scary and a whole lot exhilarating. “But if you need anything,” Santana continues, shrugging a little, “Time off or a hug or a friend, I’m good for any of it.”

“Thank you,” Brittany whispers, desperately ignoring the prickle she can still feel behind her eyes. Mercedes already had to help her reapply her makeup once today, and Brittany’s due on stage too soon for her to reapply it again. 

Santana seems to realize this and her fingers slide across Brittany’s wrist as she pulls back a little bit; Brittany suddenly realizes she can breathe properly again without ever realizing her breath was caught in her chest in the first place. “Are you up for notes after the show?” Santana asks.

“Oh yeah, you didn’t come for notes earlier,” Brittany says, her question implied rather than outright asked. 

Santana rolls her eyes so hard she tosses her head back a little, and Brittany bites her lip at how cute the gesture is. “Yeah, Puck tried to take all the props down in one trip, like a dumbass, and dropped them, of course, and broke a bunch of them. I swear to god this is the only prop department I’ve ever worked with that isn’t completely anal about taking care of the props, but nope, he just cost the company a couple hundred dollars.” Brittany smirks at the image that rises to her mind; she’s not sure if she necessarily believes in karma, but she can definitely admire its handiwork. “Anyways, I went down there for check-ins before half hour and found him trying to clean it all up. He was being,” Santana pauses for long enough that Brittany wants to hug her, and then go and beat Puck with that candy cane prop, “weird, I guess. But after I chewed him out for being a dumbass and not making more than one trip, he shut up pretty quick.”

Brittany laughs a little bit, and her chest feels light for the first time all day. “Emma’s really, really anal about the props, but whenever she’s out sick Finn and Puck completely fall apart.”

“Yeah,” Santana mutters, “So do the props.”

Brittany giggles, and is about to respond when she catches sight of one of the snow corps out of the corner of her eye sneering at Santana. Brittany’s pretty sure her name is Brynn or Bree or something, though she doesn’t pay much attention to the more malicious members of the snow corps; but even if she doesn’t recognize her, there’s this glint in her eyes that Brittany knows all too well, and the sneer on her face carries in her voice as she calls across the stage.

“Watch out there, Sugar Plum,” she snarls, “You wouldn’t wanna get to close. I’m pretty sure lesbianism is contagious.”

Brittany can see the exact moment that Santana processes what was just said, her dark eyes go wide for a second and her spine straightens with a jolt as if someone just yanked on a string at the top of her head. There’s burning anger in Santana’s dark eyes, but Brittany’s pretty sure she could scrape it away with her fingernail and reveal the bright, aching pain underneath.

Brittany feels that bubbling anger she’s felt all day start to give way and she scowls at Brynn or Bree or whatever. Her own anger is bright and flaring, all of the frustration and grief of the last couple weeks surging like liquid fire through her veins. “I’d rather catch lesbianism than whatever it is that’s made your face look like that,” she says, her voice so quiet and dangerous that it shocks Brynn or Bree or whatever into taking a startled half-step backwards. “Is it the snow that makes your face freeze like that or is that just how you’ve always looked?” Brittany continues, slipping into the practiced confusion that’s served her so well over the years, “Either way, don’t get too close to a fireplace. You might melt.”

Brynn or Bree or whatever gets lost in the sea of dancers gathering for the start of act two and Brittany takes a deep breath to calm the blood rushing in her ears before she turns back to Santana. She’s still frozen, her wide eyes on Brittany’s and the set of her shoulders stiff. “Hey,” Brittany whispers, carefully moving closer to Santana, as if she’s an overly cautious bird that might fly away at a sudden movement, “Are you okay?”

Santana blinks, her gaze darting between Brittany’s eyes. Brittany lets Santana stare at her, hoping she finds what she’s looking for. “I— Uh— Yeah,” she stutters. “That was— I mean,” her brown eyes finally still and settle on Brittany’s, and Brittany feels warm all over. “Thank you,” Santana says earnestly, the glow her dark eyes making something in Brittany’s chest shiver.

Heat crawls under her skin and she already knows the pink splotching her cheeks is obvious, even under the dim stage lights. “I’ve been looking for a reason to call her out,” Brittany admits, “She’s always been awful.”

“I—” a particularly loud voice comes through the headset still around Santana’s neck, and Santana jumps a little, only now seeming to realize that one of the other stage managers has been trying to get her attention for a while. She gives Brittany an apologetic, slightly helpless look, but Brittany easily waves her off. Santana quickly pulls her headset back over her ears and mutters something into the mic. She listens intently right as one of the stage hands starts wandering through the dancers, calling five minutes to the end of intermission, and Brittany starts a little, not realizing how much time has already passed.

Santana sighs deeply and draws Brittany’s attention back to her; she’s worrying the notebook in her hands and scowling into space. Brittany smiles a little at the furrow in her brow; she’s not sure what it is about this woman, but pretty much everything about her is adorable. Brittany touches her elbow to draw her attention, and the way her face instantly clears into a small smile when she looks at Brittany makes Brittany feel a little bit like she might be floating. Brittany points towards the curtains and Santana nods quickly. She covers the mic with her hand and her eyes go liquid soft for a moment. “Thank you,” she whispers.

Brittany can feel her heartbeat pound everywhere. “Any time,” she promises.

* * *

Santana shows up at Brittany’s dressing room just as she’s heading out, and there’s something easy and light in her expression that wasn’t there earlier. Brittany smiles at her until Santana’s dimples crease her cheeks and she looks away breathlessly. “No notes?” Brittany teases.

Santana shrugs and looks shy for a moment, before she takes a deep breath and gestures towards the hallway, waiting until Brittany’s locked the door and they’ve started heading down the hallway to answer. “Not tonight, I just wanted to check in and see how you’re doing,” she says easily, bumping her shoulder against Brittany’s, “You did amazing like usual, by the way. Especially, you know, considering everything.”

Brittany smiles a little, and despite the ache in her chest she feels less empty than she did this morning. Between talking to her family this morning, Mercedes being an amazing best friend, and Santana’s understanding, she’s realizing that she has pretty great people in her life. Sure, she misses Tubbs just as much as she did this morning, and she doesn’t think that will every go away completely, but having so many people around who care about her makes her realize that she’s never going to be as lonely as she was when it felt like Tubbs was the only one who understood her.

“What was he like?” Santana asks softly.

Brittany feels her lips curl up a little. “His name was Lord Tubbington,” she says, watching Santana out of the corner of her eye to gauge her reaction. 

She does admirably; after letting out an involuntary giggle, she bites down on her bottom lip to stifle her amusement. “Lord Tubbington?” she manages in a mostly calm voice.

Brittany nods seriously. “We called him Tubbs for short.”

Santana turns sparkling eyes on her, and despite the teeth sunk into her lip to contain her smile, her cheeks still dimple. “That’s cute,” she says, her voice bright with amusement.

Brittany grins, and Santana relaxes a little. Brittany glances around the hallway, even though she already knows it’s going to be empty, before leaning close to Santana. She smells of citrus and vanilla and pinewood underneath the clinging scent of the theatre, and it makes something in Brittany’s chest fall into place. “He was really fat,” she whispers.

Santana’s teeth release her lip as she throws her head back with a delighted laugh. “Please tell me you have pictures,” she gasps. 

Brittany grins and quickly struggles to tug her phone out of her pocket. She opens it and quickly finds her photos app, pulling up the album of Lord Tubbington’s best pictures. They end up hovering near the end of the principal hallway, huddled over Brittany’s phone as they scroll through pictures of, what Santana deems, the _fattest and most adorable cat in the world_. Brittany narrates some of Tubbs’ best moments, including the time he somehow got onto the table one New Year’s Day supper and shoved his head into the cheese fondue, and the time he got out of the house only to be picked up and cared for by a biker gang until they saw his lost posters and brought him back home. Santana’s completely enamoured by the stories Brittany tells, and it’s fun and therapeutic to reminisce on all of her adventures with, in Brittany’s humble opinion, the best cat in the world.

Mercedes had already left to pick up some snacks for them because, despite it being almost ten o’clock at night, she always knows how hungry Brittany is after a show, and since Santana’s ride had to go met up with her mom and dad, Santana offers to share another Uber back to their apartments, much to Brittany’s delight. Brittany quickly texts Mercedes that she doesn’t need a ride and she’ll meet her back at the apartment instead.

They reach the back exit and spill onto the street in a fit of giggles as Brittany narrates how the first and only time she tried smoking when she was fourteen, she heard her mom coming in the front door early and promptly framed Tubbs for the smell of smoke lingering on her clothes so her mom wouldn’t get mad at her (it didn’t work, of course, but her mom found it so amusing that she let Brittany off with only a stern warning that, if _Tubbs_ ever did it again, he’d end up grounded for the rest of _his_ life).

They direct the Uber driver to Brittany’s apartment first, and Santana keeps asking questions about Lord Tubbington, much to Brittany’s surprised delight. Santana hangs onto her every word, as if she’s the most interesting thing Santana’s ever seen, and it makes something lifting and bright curl in Brittany’s chest. They reach her and Mercedes’ apartment far too soon in Brittany’s opinion, and she quickly gives Santana money for her half of the fare, insisting on it when Santana tries to refuse because Santana didn’t let her pay her half last night. Santana eventually accepts, though with much whining reluctance, and Brittany grins, triumphant, and turns to get out of the car. Her fingers have barely wrapped around the handle of the door when Santana’s hand on hers freezes her. “Hey,” she whispers.

Brittany feels something deep in her chest leap to attention. “Hey,” she whispers back.

“I’m really glad you told me about Lord Tubbington,” Santana says quietly, “And I’m really glad to see you smiling again, even though I know you must still be hurting.”

Brittany’s breath leaves her all at once and all she can manage is a small shake of her head and a soft smile. “Thanks for listening,” Brittany whispers.

Santana’s nose scrunches up a little and those dimples crease her cheeks. “Anytime, Britt. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Santana,” she whispers, finally crawling out of the car and carefully shutting the door behind her. She watches as its taillights head east towards the first set of lights before turning south towards Santana’s apartment. 

Brittany takes a moment to breathe in the crisp night air before turning and heading into her apartment building; she still keenly misses Tubbs but, unlike she had that morning, she’s doesn’t feel so lonely anymore. 


	7. ten christmases ago

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana pretends that bringing supper to Brittany is just her hiding from the rumours and not, you know, a date or anything because that would be presumptuous; Santana finds out that Brittany is protective of the people she cares about.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More minor homophobia in this one.

By the time Santana gets halfway through the afternoon rehearsal, she realizes that everyone in the theatre knows she’s a lesbian. It’s not like it’s something she’s actively hiding, especially not after all the pain she went through of coming out when she was younger; but it’s also not something she likes to shout from the rooftops, especially because for every couple people in the company who couldn’t care less, there’s always someone who cares _too much_ about her personal life. It makes her want to scream and it makes her want to punch something and it makes her want to breakdown and cry, but most of all it makes her want to hide in Tina’s dressing room until it all blows over. It makes her remember her sophomore year of high school, after she was outed, after her so-called friends sneered at her in the hallway, after most of her family disowned her, after her abuela threw her out; it makes her remember the time before her mom packed up their lives and moved them to New York in the hopes that the city would offer a better life for her daughter.

She makes it through rehearsal with the kids and preteens; Quinn is running through a couple scenes with the principals and the adults and teenagers in the biggest dressing room, and Santana’s thankful for it. She’s never really been fully comfortable around kids, but there’s something easy about them and the harmlessness in their questions that’s exactly what she needs right now. She can handle these kids asking her why the leaves change colour in autumn, huddling around her with their bright, wondering eyes as she googles it; she’s not quite sure if she could handle the sneering looks from people like that bitchy snowflake yesterday right now or, even worse, the gross _knowing_ look that people like Puck sometimes give her. 

So she embraces leading the rehearsal for these kids, who are too busy arguing over which _Super Mario Party_ character they’re going to be on their Switches during the supper break to ask questions about her sexuality. For the first time in a long time, she longs for the evening when she can collapse on the couch in her too quiet apartment and just forget about the theatre and the show for a while. 

She dismisses the kids for supper a couple minutes before she knows Quinn will dismiss her group of dancers, partially because the kids worked hard and deserve the few extra minutes of relaxation, but mostly because she wants to get out of the theatre before anyone can catch her eye. She heads to the stage manager’s office and quickly shrugs on her coat and scarf before hurrying out of the theatre, heading straight for her favourite sandwich shop a couple blocks away.

She plans to just hide out in the stage manager’s office for supper since Tina and Mike are both at appointments over in Brooklyn and out of the theatre until warmups, so Santana has no idea how she ends up hovering outside of Brittany’s dressing room about half an hour later, holding a bag of sandwiches and a couple drinks and trying to convince herself its not weird if she asks if Brittany wants to have supper with her, and that it’s not presumptuous to have already bought supper for her too. She shakes her head and takes two forceful steps to the door, desperately trying not to think of how much this feels a little bit like a date, and knocks on it before she can change her mind and hide out in Tina’s dressing room until she gets back.

She forcefully pushes the thought to the side when Brittany’s muffled _Come in!_ sounds barely a moment later, and Santana sucks in a steadying breath before fumbling with the doorknob and pushing into the dressing room.

Brittany’s sitting on the floor in some insanely flexible stretch that makes Santana’s joints ache just looking at her. “Santana!” she says, and her limbs flail in a careless kind of grace as she falls out of her stretch and stands up to greet her. 

“Hey,” Santana says, shaking her head a little at how Brittany seems a little bit like her bones are actually made of elastic. “I, uh, was wondering if you wanted to have supper,” she says quickly, shaking the bag in her hand.

Brittany’s lips curl into a wide smile even as her eyes soften, turning as liquid as her movements as she crosses her dressing room, stepping close enough that Santana can smell the coconut of her shampoo. Santana’s breath hitches louder than normal, and Brittany’s eyes land briefly on her parted lips as she leans further into Santana’s space to shove the door shut behind Santana, blue eyes sparkling in amusement as she steps back. “I’d love to,” she finally says with a tiny smirk that has no business making Santana’s heart race as much as it does. She takes the bags from a still slightly dazed Santana and drops them on the coffee table, rounding it to collapse languidly on the floor and patting the spot beside her.

Santana quickly unwraps her scarf from around her neck, belatedly realizing how overeager she probably looks to have not stopped at the stage manager’s office to take her winter clothing off. She resolutely ignores the heat she can feel under her cheeks as she tosses her scarf, and then her jacket, onto the chair by the door before turning to join Brittany. 

“Uh, uh, uh,” Brittany stops her before she can even take a step. Santana narrows her eyes at her in question, but Brittany just grins and points at Santana’s boots. “This dressing room is a no shoe zone at all eating times,” she explains, wiggling her own socked feet to prove her point.

Santana rolls her eyes but can’t quite bite down on her smile as she kicks off her shoes. “Happy?” she teases, finally rounding the coffee table to sit down beside Brittany.

Brittany’s eyes land on her feet and she smirks. “Knowing that your socks have cacti on them? Definitely.”

“Oh shut up,” Santana grumbles, folding her legs until she’s sitting cross-legged under the coffee table. Brittany’s already dug through the bag and emerged with two sandwiches, two small containers of house-made fries, a bottle of orange juice for Brittany, and a half finished bottle of water for Santana.

“I love orange juice,” Brittany says with a tiny smile as she cracks the lid of the bottle, “How’d you know?”

Santana shrugs, picking at nothing on her jeans, embarrassed without really knowing why. “It’s what you ordered at brunch on Monday,” she admits, “So I figured it would be a safe bet.”

When she finally chances a glance up at Brittany, there’s something incredibly soft in those blue eyes and it makes Santana’s stomach flip over. “Thanks,” Brittany murmurs, before blinking and glancing back at the coffee table, the pale skin of her cheeks pinking in splotches. “So, what kind of sandwiches did you get?” Brittany quickly asks.

Santana manages to tear her eyes away from Brittany’s profile and draw the sandwiches towards her. “Uh, the house sandwich, which is just like a BLT, more or less. And then one that’s basically just a chicken club.”

“Which one’s mine?”

Santana shrugs. “Whichever one you want, I like them both.”

Brittany doesn’t look at her, but Santana can see how her smile turns sweet and soft. “Well in that case, I’ll just take whichever one’s closer to me.”

Santana smiles and grabs the other sandwich, pushing one of the containers of fries at Brittany. They eat in comfortable silence, occasionally talking about whatever comes to mind or, in Brittany’s case, throwing fries at Santana when she says something particularly snarky; it’s not that Brittany’s not snarky either, it’s just that Santana loves these fries far too much to waste them as ammo. Santana quietly asks Brittany how she’s doing about Lord Tubbington, and she shrugs and says it’s still hard but she’s less sad than she was the night she found out; Brittany quietly asks Santana about how she’s doing about being outed, and she shrugs and says it’s hard but nothing she hasn’t dealt with before. 

Santana briefly worries that she’s made the conversation sad and awkward, but before she knows it they’re laughing about Emma’s minor breakdown over the broken props this morning, now that she’s finally healthy and non-contagious enough to come in for work again. Talking with Brittany reminds Santana of hanging out with Mike and Tina, except she quickly finds that she blushes a lot more around Brittany than she does around her two oldest friends; it’s something she tries not to think too much about, but it’s also something she kind of desperately wants to explore more.

“Oh yeah, I was going to ask,” Santana says, pointing a fry at Brittany, “Do you know what happened to the last production stage manager?”

“Who Sandy?”

Santana shrugs, popping the fry into her mouth and quickly chewing it. “I guess? Holly just told me that they fired the old one and needed a new one immediately when she offered me the job, but she never went into any details. And Quinn had no clue either when I asked her.”

“Yeah, he got, um,” Brittany frowns as she searches for the word, chewing thoughtfully on her sandwich. There’s a tiny smudge of sauce on the corner of her mouth and Santana inwardly groans when a pink tongue darts out to lick it away; Brittany is far too adorable for her own good, or for Santana’s own heart rate, at the very least. “Accused,” she finally decides on, “I guess, of being _creepy_ to some of the toy soldiers.”

“Accused, you _guess_?”

Brittany tilts her head back and forth for a moment, her ponytail swinging lazily with the movement. “There’s rumours that Rachel falsely accused him to get him fired so a new production stage manager would be hired who could, and I quote,” Brittany says with an eye roll, her voice dripping with obviously mocking sweetness, “ _Finally recognize my talent for what it is and truly appreciate my brilliance in all aspects_.”

“You really don’t like her,” Santana marvels with a smirk.

“No, I don’t really like raw onions but I’ll still eat them,” Brittany clarifies, “I would have shoved Rachel into the pit during rehearsals a long time ago if I could guarantee that the band wouldn’t be completely crushed under the weight of her ego.”

Santana’s laughter surprises her, and she glances up at Brittany, whose blue eyes are sparkling brightly, her lips curled up in a smirk. “Jeez, Britt,” Santana laughs, “I’ll make sure to put ‘protective gear for the pit band’ on my list of things to get done so we can get started on that plan.”

Brittany grins around a large bite of her sandwich. “Good,” she mumbles, “It’s what we all deserve.”

Santana shakes her head at Brittany’s absolutely adorable evil plans and they eat in comfortable silence for a while. “So that’s why he got fired?” she finally asks.

Brittany grins widely. “Nope!” she says easily, “it didn’t even matter if Rachel _had_ accused him of that, he was arrested for dealing drugs outside the theatre.”

Santana laughs, her eyes wide and delighted. “No!” she gasps.

Brittany nods quickly, her blue eyes sparkling brightly. “Oh yeah, apparently he had a pretty impressive amount of pot on him.”

“Fuck,” Santana gasps around her laugh, “No wonder Holly was so desperate for a new stage manager on such short notice.”

Brittany nods. “It was actually pretty funny. I was running late that day so I ended up just going in the front doors of the theatre, and here’s this little middle aged man who wears his sweaters around his shoulders like some rich schoolboy that walked straight out of an eighties movie, in handcuffs and shoved up against a cop car, and Holly standing there, speechless for the first time I’ve ever seen, staring up at the sky like _God, why me?_ ”

Santana shakes her head, giggling at the image Brittany paints. “I wish I could have seen that.”

Brittany’s face lights up and she reaches across the coffee table for her phone. “Oh, you can,” she grins, “I took a picture.”

Santana grins and quickly leans into Brittany’s space to see over her shoulder, her hand landing close enough to Brittany’s hip that she can feel the warmth she emanates. She tries not to be too obvious about the fact that she might be memorizing Brittany’s smell as she leans her weight on her hand, looking over Brittany’s shoulder as she scrolls through her photos, but Brittany smells like coconut and honeysuckle and jasmine and something salty and probably pure sunlight and happiness or something, and Santana can’t be held responsible for how dizzy the scent makes her.

“Here!” Brittany says, tilting the phone towards Santana, and it’s exactly how Brittany described it. Santana giggles and shakes her head, glancing up at Brittany with a wide grin. She suddenly realizes how close they are, and she draws back a little bit, her laughter trailing off as she struggles to remember how to breathe.

Brittany stares at Santana for a long moment, her bottom lip pouted out a little bit and her smile a little lopsided; her blue eyes are brighter than Santana’s ever seen them, beautiful and glowing and shy. “I’m glad he got fired,” she says quietly.

Santana sucks in a deep breath, her heart beating fast and heavy until it feels like it’s pounding against her sternum and her ribs are echoing its beat. “Me too,” she whispers.

* * *

Santana finds that she kind of hates Finn for opening his dumb mouth and telling everyone what he overhead; Brittany explained to her earlier what Puck said, and every time she sees Finn lumbering around backstage she has the urge to go over and sock him in the jaw, even if she would have to literally scale his dumb skyscraper body to reach it. Even if he was just shocked about what he overheard and didn’t think before opening his mouth, he still had no right to tell everyone about her sexuality, and Santana pointedly avoids him and Puck the entire show. Quinn doesn’t question her when she redirects Finn and Puck and the other people from props to her and Zizes, just offers her a tiny, sympathetic smile. 

Brittany’s on the phone when she pops her head in after the show, but she says a quick “One second, mom,” before pressing the phone to her shoulder. “Hey,” she says brightly. “Are you here for notes?”

Mercedes is sprawled on the couch, flipping her car keys back and forth over her fingers, idly scrolling through her phone; she glances up and waves a quick greeting to Santana, her keys jangling softly. 

Santana returns the wave before smiling at Brittany, nodding at the phone in her hand. “You look busy, I’ll just do them tomorrow.”

“It’s fine,” Brittany says quickly, “I can call her back. It’s still early there.”

Santana shakes her head softly. “It’s okay, Britt, I don’t have many notes for you, like usual,” she says easily, and Brittany’s eyes dart down as a faint blush creeps over her cheeks, “so it won’t take long anyways. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Bye,” Brittany says, and her soft smile makes Santana’s stomach flip over. It’s still flipping over even as she waves her farewell to Brittany and heads down the hall for Tina’s room.

The door’s cracked open, so she doesn’t bother knocking as she slips inside. Tina’s at the vanity, carefully wiping her makeup off, and she meets Santana’s eyes in the mirror as soon as Santana appears in the doorway. Santana shuts the door behind her and leans back on it with a deep sigh that she feels all the way down to the very bottom of her soul.

“Hey,” Tina says, turning around to lean back against the vanity, her eyes tight with concern. “How are you doing?”

Santana shakes her head, pushing herself off the door with some difficulty; now that she’s in the safe haven of Tina’s dressing room, she can feel the entirety of the day weighing heavily on her limbs for the first time all day. “It’s been a long day,” she mutters, collapsing face first into Tina’s couch.

Tina makes a sound of acknowledgement. Santana listens to her putter around the dressing room for a couple minutes, paying little mind to her best friend until the couch dips by her hip. Tina’s hand is warm where she presses it comfortingly over her shoulder, and Santana manages to turn her head to the side to catch Tina’s eye. “This day has mostly sucked,” she grumbles.

“Mostly?”

Santana shrugs with some difficulty considering one arm is sinking between the back of the couch and the cushions and the other is squished against between her own body and Tina’s butt. “Supper with Britt was good,” she mumbles.

Tina smirks above her but doesn’t say anything, instead she just reveals Santana’s favourite chocolate bar. Santana grins and struggles to pull herself upright, awkwardly rolling over and drawing her legs up to her and trying not to kick Tina in the back until she finally manages to sit. “You’re a lifesaver,” Santana breathes.

Tina grins and passes her the chocolate. “Someone’s gotta keep you functioning properly.”

Santana nods, offering Tina a row of chocolate as soon as she’s shoved some in her own mouth. “Thanks,” she mumbles.

Tina shrugs. “It’s the least I could do, especially after the day you’ve had.” Santana shakes her head and glares blankly into the space just beyond Tina’s head. 

“It’s so fucking dumb,” Santana snarls suddenly, “I mean this _shouldn’t_ matter anymore.”

Tina sighs and wraps an arm around Santana; Santana struggles against her for a moment, wanting to be strong and brave and all the things she doesn’t feel half the time, until Tina tucks her head against Santana’s and whispers, “I know.”

Santana deflates, dropping her hands to her lap and fiddling with the chocolate bar wrapper, letting Tina bear Santana’s weight on her own shoulders for a while. “But it does,” she rasps. Tina holds Santana upright until she’s steady enough to do it herself, and Santana straightens up with a sigh, furiously scrubbing at her eyes until Tina’s hands gently stop her.

She takes the chocolate bar from Santana and drops it on the table, quickly standing and crossing the room for her makeup bag before returning. She tugs on Santana’s legs until they’re both sitting criss-cross-applesauce on the couch, their knees knocking slightly as they shift to get more comfortable, like how they used to what feels like ages ago. Santana just focuses on breathing while Tina wipes away smeared mascara and tears with a disposable makeup cloth. She lets her eyes flutter closed while Tina redoes her makeup, a sigh fluttering past her lips. “It just— It reminds me of the first time, you know?” Santana finally says. Tina makes a small sound of acknowledgement, tilting Santana’s chin into the light to admire her work, carefully touching the eyeshadow up until she’s satisfied with her work. “It just brings me back again to high school again,” she sighs.

Tina pauses in her ministrations, and when Santana blinks her eyes open in question, she finds dark eyes flaring with bright, protective anger. Santana offers her a tiny smile and waits until the anger dies before letting Tina continue to fix her makeup, touching a mascara brush carefully to dark eyelashes until all evidence of Santana’s tears are erased. 

“Thanks,” she mumbles.  
“Course,” Tina says easily, the skin under her eyes still tight.

Santana sighs a little, sensing the question on her best friend’s tongue. “Go ahead, ask it.”

“Have you talked to her at all?” Tina asks hesitantly. “Your abuela, I mean.”

Santana breathes deeply for long moments before focusing back on Tina, preparing to face the world again. “Not since my mom suggested us going back to Ohio for that first Christmas,” she admits quietly. Her eyes drift to the calendar hanging on Tina’s wall. “It’s been ten years since I was told I wasn’t welcome in her house or her life anymore,” she whispers.

Tina sighs and pulls Santana into an almost too tight hug, and Santana blinks rapidly, trying not to ruin Tina’s work on her makeup. “Do you want company tonight?” Tina finally mumbles.

Santana shrugs and nuzzles her chin further into Tina’s shoulder for a moment. “No, I don’t think so. A ride home would be nice though.”

Tina snorts. “I know you’re just friends with me for my car,” she teases.

“You’ve got me,” Santana mutters, and they both pretend that the fact that they’re currently clinging to each other doesn’t completely render this conversation moot, “I’ve kept you around for, like, eight years just on the off chance you would eventually get a car, despite not having one for about six and a half of those years.”

“Sounds devious enough for you,” Tina agrees idly.

Santana laughs, pulling back and dabbing carefully at the skin under her eyes again. “I gotta grab my stuff from the stage manager’s office first.”

Tina nods, finally letting Santana completely out of her embrace as Santana goes to stand. “I’ll meet you at the elevators to the parkade?” she suggests.

Santana agrees, grabbing her chocolate bar off of the coffee table before waving at Tina as she leaves her dressing room and heads back through the theatre. All the other principals have already left, their doors shut tight and their lights off; Mike had to head back to the apartment he shared with Tina as soon as the show ended to meet up with his mom for something, but he managed to catch Santana on his way out and tug her into a shadowy corner to give her a big hug. 

Santana slowly eats the rest of her chocolate bar on her way, savouring the sweetness after such a long day. She’s passing through the hallway of the corps dancers’ dressing rooms and barely notices that there’s still a door cracked open and a light on until she’s practically walking right past it. There’s voices chorusing inside and Santana pauses right outside the door, frowning. It’s the snow corps dressing room, and usually they’re one of the first groups to clear out after the show. 

“Hey! Shut up, all of you.”

Santana freezes for a split second, every nerve ending in her body locking up before feeling like they’re suddenly to vibrating. She knows that voice voice; it’s sharper and icier than Santana’s every heard it, but that cadence and deadpan unmistakably belongs to one Brittany S. Pierce.

There’s a voice of protest, low and bitchy and Santana would bet money on it being that snowflake bitch from yesterday. “This isn’t your place, Sugar Plump,” she sneers, “Fuck off.”

“No, it’s not my corps,” Brittany agrees coolly, “But it is _yours_ , and this production expects better of it’s dancers.”

“Who cares if there’s rumours going around about that new bitch,” the snowflake spits, “It’s not like I started them. Besides, she deserves it for being a _lesbian_.”

Santana slinks even closer to the door, and the overwhelming smell of sweat and too much body spray tickles her nose. She breathes out shakily through her mouth and hopes she doesn’t start sneezing.

“You may not have started them, but I’m ending them,” Brittany continues icily. “All of them, right now. It’s bullying and unprofessional and I won’t accept it. This is an arts theatre and you’re all being homophobic? Who do you think sews all of your costumes? You’re all okay with having your stereotypically gay best friend but as soon as it’s a woman you all get gross about it?”

Santana can hear an uncomfortable shuffling of fabric and the heavy tense silence as she presses herself completely against the wall, her heart pounding all the way down to her fingertips.

“That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard. I don’t want to hear anything else about this or I’ll go straight to Sylvester, understand?” Brittany waits for their mumbled assent. “I _said_ , understand?” There’s a louder confirmation this time and Brittany’s voice grows even stronger, a thread of steel lining it. “Good,” she says briskly, “Because if you have a problem with Santana being gay then you have a problem with me being bi, and that’s hilarious to me considering how willing you all are to suck up to me in the hopes that I’ll put in a good word for you. Besides,” Brittany adds flippantly, her voice growing clearer, “I know a whole lineup of non-homophobic dancers who are just dying to have a spot in this production. It won’t be hard to replace you.”

Santana stares blankly at the wall in front of her, her eyes wide and her heart pounding sharply. She feels like she wasn’t supposed to hear this conversation, Brittany gave absolutely no indication she was going to put a stop to the rumours earlier, but she’s so glad that she did stumble upon it; she can’t even begin to comprehend how light and thankful and, weirdly enough, protected she feels after overhearing that. Footsteps sound in the room and Santana’s body suddenly unfreezes. She doesn’t want Brittany to know she just overheard her standing up for her; not yet, anyways, she needs time to process it, so she flees as silently as she can down the hallway, ducking around the corner before half-jogging, half-speed-walking the rest of the way to the stage manager’s office.

She quickly unlocks the door and slips inside, leaning back against the closed door and catching her breath and trying to process the last couple minutes before she finds herself laughing, partially a product of the adrenaline coursing through her veins, and partially a product of how giddy she feels at Brittany being so amazing.

Sure, it’s been a mostly long and uncomfortable day, but she can’t help the butterflies fluttering in her stomach as her mind drifts back to the fierce protectiveness in Brittany’s voice. She can’t really help the fact that she’s smiling like a complete goof the entire walk back through the theatre and to the parkade elevators. 

She thinks back to brunch, when Tina caught her eye across the table with that knowing glint in her eyes, and she knows for sure what she suspected then: She’s definitely screwed, but she thinks she doesn’t care that all that much if it involves sparkling blue eyes and that glowing smile.


	8. the slight sparkle of tinsel, covered in mud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany kind of thinks stuff like this might be a date, but she doesn’t want to assume anything because God, what if they’re not?; Tina and Mercedes like to burst into dressing rooms unannounced.

Brittany wakes up Saturday morning with a text from Santana asking her if she wants a sandwich from the same place yesterday for supper between shows today. She grins goofily as she unplugs her phone and snuggles back down into her pillow, tucking her arms under the comforter again and holding her phone perhaps a little too close to her face, as she quickly responds that she would love one.

The little bubbles indicating Santana’s typing appear and disappear for almost a full minute, but she ends up just sending a _Cool_ , and Brittany can’t help the wide smile that spreads across her face or the giddy-happy flutter of butterflies in her stomach; Santana pretending to be tough or cool is actually just adorable.

She can hear the faint hint of Christmas music drifting through the apartment and Mercedes puttering around the kitchen, so she sends a _Thanks!_ to Santana before sighing and rolling out of bed. She shivers as soon as the comforter falls from her body, leaving her bare arms and legs exposed to the cold air blowing in from her open window. The temperature must have really dropped last night, Brittany figures, if her ice cold nose is anything to go by, and she quickly crosses her room to shut her window. She finds her oldest, most comfortable hoodie and tugs it on, tucking her phone into her pocket, as she stumbles down the hall to the bathroom. She keeps texting Santana as she runs through her morning routine, deciding that she’ll shower later when it’s closer to the time they’ll have to leave for the theatre, finding it hard to brush her teeth around her smile but not caring in the least.

She emerges from the bathroom to the smell of coffee, and she follows her nose to find Mercedes singing along to the speakers on the counter as she washes up some dishes at the sink, a frying pan of eggs sizzling behind her and a coffee cup, the novelty Grumpy Cat one Mercedes got Brittany for their first Christmas in the apartment together, sits under a stream of coffee from the Keurig. Mercedes has always been a morning person, and so she’s always been in charge of breakfast, and the cooking in the apartment just in general, which works out well since Brittany doesn’t hate cleaning like Mercedes does.

“Morning,” Brittany yawns.

Mercedes glances up and offers Brittany a smile. “Morning, sleepyhead.”

Brittany shrugs. “It’s not even that late,” she says easily, “And the matinee isn’t until two.”

Mercedes just rolls her eyes, drying her hands on the tea towel draped over her shoulder as the Keurig sputters to an end. Brittany slides onto her stool at the kitchen island and folds her arms to make a cradle for her head. Mercedes stirs in cream and sugar, the clink of the spoon against the side of the mug in beat with Mariah Carey’s voice crooning around the kitchen. 

Brittany’s phone chimes and she slips it out of her pocket and can’t help the soft smile she gets as she unlocks it, quickly answering Santana before setting it on the counter.

“I know that smile,” Mercedes teases as she sets the cup of coffee in front of Brittany; Brittany bites down on her smile as she sits up properly, but she’s pretty sure it doesn’t actually do anything to hide it.

“What smile?” she deadpans. 

Mercedes swats the tea towel at her, flicking the tip of it right on Brittany’s nose with impeccable aim. “Don’t play coy,” she smirks, “That’s your _Santana_ smile.”

Brittany scoffs, batting away the tea towel as it makes another pass at her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she says haughtily.

“Girl, please,” Mercedes laughs, “You two couldn’t be more obvious if you wore flashing neon signs around the theatre.”

Brittany takes a sip of her coffee before tilting her head to the side. “That seems inconvenient, but there would probably be fewer face plants and collisions backstage,” she contemplates.

“Oh for sure,” Mercedes agrees, “But don’t think you’re getting away with this.”

“Getting away with what?” Brittany asks, far too innocently.

Mercedes snorts. “You know I’m going to just keep bugging you until you break, you might as well give up now and save us both the trouble.” 

Brittany sucks in a soft breath and meets Mercedes gaze for just a moment before her eyes drop away. “She’s bringing me supper today,” Brittany admits shyly, and though she ducks her head to hide her too soft smile, Mercedes easily recognizes it and reaches across the kitchen counter to clasp Brittany’s hands in hers around the coffee mug.

“Again?” Mercedes gasps excitedly. Brittany nods, bashful and glowing. “Really?” Mercedes coos, “Like a _date_?”

Brittany shrugs and bites down on her lip. “I dunno. We didn’t really talk about it, but— I’d like it to be.”

“You two are so smitten with each other,” Mercedes sighs.

“Smitten? Really? What are you, ninety?”

“Oh,” Mercedes retorts, “would you prefer infatuated? Maybe besotted? Enamoured, perhaps? Head over heels? Taken with? Enchanted? Bowled over? Bewitched? Twitterpated?”

“Okay,” Brittany laughs, “That last one you just made up, Ms. Walking-Thesaurus.”

Mercedes just rolls her eyes. “Look it up. It’s a real word.”

Brittany’s doubtful, but just as she’s about to google it her phone chimes. Mercedes glances up in time to catch Brittany’s blushing smile, her blue eyes lit up with something Mercedes has never seen in them before, and she laughs a little at how obvious Brittany is even when she’s trying to deny it. “And you say you aren’t smitten,” she teases just as the toast pops, turning to pull plates out of the cupboard and butter the slices she eases out of the toaster. 

Brittany sticks her tongue out at Mercedes, but with her back turned it’s kind of pointless. She pouts at her phone as she unlocks it. _Mercedes is making fun of me_ , she complains to Santana.

Santana’s response is immediate, _Rude! Tell her I won’t bring her a coffee today_.

“Santana’s threatening to revoke your coffee privileges if you don’t stop making fun of me,” Brittany relays.

Mercedes gasps, glancing over her shoulder with an overdramatic horrified expression. “No! Not the coffee privileges!”

Brittany tuts at her. “You better lay off me then,” she singsongs.

Mercedes bursts into laughter, and it only takes a beat before Brittany’s own laughter joins in. “I’ll be good,” she finally promises.

Brittany smirks and turns back to her phone. _It worked!_ she texts, and then, _She promised to be good_.

_Hmm_ , Santana responds instantly, and Brittany can almost see the amused sparkle in those beautiful brown eyes, _I suppose that’s acceptable. But one more teasing remark and I’ll kick her ass! I can’t have anyone making fun of my Britts_. Brittany bites down on her smile so it doesn’t overwhelm her, and she so wishes that Santana was here right now so she could see the furious blush she’s sure is blooming across Santana’s cheeks, giving her that adorable too bright, breathless look. 

_My hero!_ Brittany answers quickly, only hesitating for a split second before she adds a couple heart emojis to it, feeling heat prickle under her own skin; Santana’s blush may be adorable, but Brittany doesn’t want her to actually burst into flames from it, and she figures Santana deserves a little bit of payoff for the chance she just took, even if said payoff does make Brittany blush furiously in return.

“So what’s the verdict?” Mercedes asks as she sets Brittany’s plate down in front of her, eyeing the pink splotching Brittany’s cheeks with amused delight, “Did I earn my way back onto Santana Clause’s nice list?”

Brittany glances up from her phone with a grin. “Latte or cappuccino?”

* * *

Before Brittany knows it, the matinee is over and she’s plunging her feet into a bucket of ice for the first time that night. Saturdays aren’t as busy as Sundays, where there’s a matinee at one and an evening show at five and they barely have time to breathe after the matinee before warmups for the evening show are starting, let alone eat or rest, but with Saturday matinees at two and the evening shows at eight, it still makes for a busy day.

Brittany’s only just pulling on her favourite pair of fuzzy socks, hopping around by her vanity, when there’s a knock at the door. She quickly tugs the sock the rest of the way up her calf, snapping the elastic as she calls a greeting. Santana nudges the door open with her toe, struggling with two big bags of food and a tray of coffees, her notebook tucked under her arm, almost flush with her armpit. “Hey,” she says, her voice almost as soft as her smile; it makes Brittany feel a little bit like she’s melting.

“Hi,” Brittany greets, hovering by the vanity as Santana slips further into the room. 

“I hope you don’t mind,” Santana says nervously, “but Mike had something come up today and Tina doesn’t have any supper, so I invited her to join us once she’s done talking to Kurt, and because Mercedes was walking to costumes with Tina I invited her too. They’re going to be here at like five-thirty-ish.”

Brittany feels a flash of disappointment arc through her, but she pushes it aside, both because she genuinely doesn’t actually mind Tina and Mercedes eating with them, and because Santana looks just as disappointed as she feels that they’ll have extra company for supper. “That’s fine!” she says brightly, and she does really mean it, “But you owe me supper with just the two of us now.”

Santana’s eyes widen before they soften into something hopeful. “It’s a deal,” she says quietly as she steps all the way into the room, and Brittany’s pretty sure she’s going to hear that promise echoing around her head for days. “Do you want me to?” Santana trails off, gesturing towards the coffee table with the bag of food.

“Nope,” Brittany says happily. Santana frowns and her face grows tight and worried for a moment until Brittany points at her sneakers. “This is a no shoe zone while eating, remember?”

Santana relaxes and Brittany can hear her sigh of relief, even as she rolls her eyes, across the dressing room, and she would feel a little bad about scaring Santana like that if that furrow between her brows weren’t so damn cute. Brittany giggles and crosses the dressing room to take the tray of coffee from Santana, easing the notebook from under Santana’s arm as well. She sets the coffee down on the table and tosses the notebook onto the couch, sinking onto the floor with only a small groan as her muscles protest; she’s really going to have to stretch them out again before the evening show.

Santana kicks off her sneakers and struggles to shrug off her jacket, transferring the bags of food between her hands as she wiggles her arm around until her jacket drops off of her wrist and onto the chair by the door, leaving her in her black t-shirt and black skinny jeans. She drops the bags on the coffee table as she rounds it to sit beside Brittany, and Brittany’s eyes fall to her navy blue socks decorated with radishes and carrots and turnips. “Cute,” Brittany says, tickling her fingertips across the top of Santana’s foot. Santana rolls her eyes again, but her cheeks still dimple anyways, even as she fights off her smile.

Santana doesn’t just settle close enough that their knees are pressed together like yesterday, instead, since Brittany’s legs are stretched out under the coffee table, Santana settles close enough that their thighs press together. It makes every single nerve ending in Brittany’s body come alive, as if she had just been shocked awake, and she covers her reaction by dragging the coffee table towards them so they can still lean comfortably back against the couch. They silently divide up the food and coffee, leaving two piles for Tina and Mercedes once they show up, and once again Brittany marvels at their opposite handed dominance, because it means that not only do their thighs and hips remain pressed together, their calves brushing occasionally, but their arms from shoulder to elbow remain pressed together the entire time they’re eating as well. Brittany feels warm all over despite the goosebumps prickling her skin, and she’s so thankful she decided not to pull her sweater on after the show, because it means that her bare arm presses to Santana’s bare arm, and Brittany’s pretty sure Santana must have the softest and warmest skin ever.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while, and Brittany doesn’t find the need to fill the quiet like she usually does, instead they just pass their sandwiches back and forth so the other can try both kinds, sharing a small container of gravy, and smiling shyly every time their fingers brush.

Once Brittany feels like she’s satisfied the aching hole in her stomach—she’s always starving after a performance—she lets her head fall back on the couch and lazily lolls it towards Santana, pointing her toes to stretch out her legs a little more, shifting subtly so her calf presses to Santana all the way to their ankles. “So how’d the show go on your end?” she asks.

Santana finishes chewing on her bite of sandwich and swallows with an eye roll, her head shaking a little with the motion. “Fine, but that little gremlin in sound is getting on my last fucking nerve.”

Brittany studies Santana’s profile for a second before turning her head to stare up at the ceiling. “It’s ‘cause Sandy used to feed him after midnight,” Brittany says seriously.

Santana’s silent for a beat before she turns to Brittany with glowing eyes and playfully smacks her in the arm. “That movie gave me fucking nightmares as a kid!” she squeals. 

Brittany twists her face and drops her voice down to her raspiest, deepest octave, the kind that makes it feel like her vocal cords are scratching together and the urge to cough is almost overwhelming. “Gizmo, caca!” she croaks. 

“Stop it!” Santana squawks, smacking her again, but her brown eyes are bright and amused.

“Uh oh.”

“Seriously!” Santana laughs, “If I have nightmares tonight I’m blaming you!”

Brittany bursts into laughter as well, warmth ballooning in her chest until she feels like she might melt. “I haven’t seen that movie in forever.”

Santana shakes her head, obviously charmed but pretending she’s not. “You’re a goofball, you know that?”

Brittany nudges her with her shoulder. “You love it,” she teases.

Santana’s eyes go soft and liquid. “Yeah,” she breathes, and there’s a charged moment as Brittany sucks in a sharp breath, preparing for something without knowing what, before Santana flusters and quickly glances away, grabbing a couple fries to pop in her mouth.

“Have you seen him without hair gel?” Brittany asks.

Santana shakes her head, laughing as she swallows her mouthful, “No, I haven’t, but Mike said he looks like a Chia Pet.” 

Brittany glances slyly at Santana. “Who do you think came up with that?”

Santana bursts into giggles and shoves playfully at Brittany’s shoulder, sending her careening dramatically off balance, though Brittany only really lets herself fall back so far so has an excuse to compensate and lean further into Santana’s space when she sits back up. 

They talk about the show some more as they finish off their suppers, exchanging their sandwiches and fries for their cooling coffees. As the time creeps towards five-thirty, Santana grows nervous and almost twitchy, and Brittany can’t figure out why. She subtly shifts her legs until she can run her ankle along Santana’s for a brief moment, but that only makes Santana jump a little. Despite her earlier nerves, she doesn’t seem to still be anxious about Mercedes and Tina crashing their supper, but Brittany can’t quite figure out what’s bothering her now. She keeps glancing at Brittany and opening her mouth before snapping it closed and looking away before Brittany can see her, or before she realizes Brittany can see her, at least. Once she does this for about the seventh time, Brittany takes a steadying breath and studies Santana’s profile for a long while before she nudges her gently with her elbow. “Hey,” she says softly, “Are you okay? You seem a little off.”

Santana glances at Brittany sharply, for barely a second, almost before Brittany can register the tension there, before she softens. “I— Uh, yeah. I just— I overheard you last night,” she admits, “In the snow corps dressing room. What you said about bullying and, um, knowing other dancers to replace them if they kept being mean or, uh, whatever.”

Brittany tenses, and draws back from Santana a little. Santana was never meant to find out about that, let alone _hear_ it. Heat crawls under the skin on the back of Brittany’s neck but the rest of her body breaks out in chills, a little bit like when she’s sicker than a dog and fighting a fever. “I— Um—” she stutters, her stomach knotting at the realization that Santana probably thinks that she was completely inappropriate for stepping out of line like that. “You weren’t supposed to— I mean I didn’t mean to— I know it was probably not my place at all or whatever but I— I just,” she finally trails off lamely when she realizes that Santana isn’t getting angry or annoyed, she’s just staring at Brittany with something unreadable in her eyes. 

Santana just looks at Brittany for a long time, long enough that Brittany starts to fidget under her dark gaze, her eyes darting between Brittany’s before settling into the deepest groove of them. “Thank you,” she whispers, and Brittany feels the knot just below her sternum ease even as goosebumps break out all across her body, “I— I can’t even say how much it means to me.” Santana opens her mouth, but then closes it, her lips pressed together as she shakes her head a little bit, almost like she can’t believe that Brittany is actually sitting there in front of her. Santana’s eyes dart down for a split second before catching back on Brittany’s, just a little bit wet and adoring. “My hero,” she breathes, and though she tries to imbue a slightly teasing tone to the words to mask how much they mean, her voice only comes out soft and warm and fond.

For a split second Brittany thinks that Santana might take her hand, or hug her, or even lean in and kiss her cheek, which, of course, means that this is the exact moment that someone knocks on the door and only gives it a split second before easing it open. They both jump a little, and despite straightening their spines and leaning back a little, neither of them realizing their faces had drifted so close together, they don’t move far enough to break the contact of their legs and arms.

Mercedes and Tina greet them as the step into the room, and Brittany feels her cheeks heat up even though she didn’t do anything wrong; Santana grows breathless and warm beside her, and they both resolutely pretend that their faces weren’t only a couple inches apart just a couple seconds ago.

Their two supper crashers sit down across from them, and Brittany and Santana reluctantly draw their legs up to make room for their friends. They still remain pressed close to each other, but Brittany instantly misses the electrifying warmth of the entire length of Santana’s leg pressed against hers. 

Mercedes and Tina dig into their suppers, and they all easily start chatting about the matinee, everything Santana still has to do before the evening show, the latest gossip around the theatre, which Mercedes and Tina relay to an eager Santana, who is both interested and horrified in equal parts, and then what they’re planning on doing after the show tonight. Santana is going straight home to collapse into bed; Brittany’s planning on Skyping with her parents and sister for a while; Tina’s going to drop Santana off and then meet up with Mike for drinks; Mercedes is driving Sam home and then collapsing into bed as well. 

“So what are you guys planning to do on your day off?” Mercedes asks as she drags a fry through the ketchup she squirted onto the styrofoam lid of her sandwich container. 

Brittany wiggles her toes a little, brushing them against Santana’s thigh and barely catching the shiver it elicits. “I’m not planning on doing anything,” Brittany says, her attention mostly on Santana. 

Mercedes laughs. “You’re planning on doing laundry.”

Brittany pouts but knows that she’s right. “Only if you make me your famous cookies again as a reward.”

“Girl it’s your own laundry! You don’t deserve a reward for doing your own laundry!” Mercedes protests, but they both know that Brittany’s going to get her cookies anyways.

Brittany grins and nudges Santana with her elbow. “What about you?”

Santana turns her head towards Brittany a little, but her eyes never leave Tina’s, and Brittany watches in fascination as they seem to be having an entire conversation without saying a single word. “Well it’s tradition for me and Tina and Mike to go out for brunch whenever we’re free, which is actually easy now since we’re all working on the same production for the first time since college.”

“The same place as Monday?” Brittany asks curiously.

Tina groans from across the coffee table. “For eight damn years,” she whines.

Santana sticks her tongue out at Tina and Brittany’s stomach flutters; she really is too cute for her own good. “You love it,” Santana teases. She finally turns her full attention to Brittany and gives her a small, dimpled smile. “And then we were planning on hanging out at the mall and knocking off some Christmas shopping.”

“That sounds fun,” Brittany says earnestly.

“Jeez,” Mercedes says from across the table, her voice bright with realization, “Christmas shopping is going to be damn near impossible with this production’s schedule.”

Tina glances at Santana, and Santana gives her a tiny nod. Brittany watches Santana curiously out of the corner of her eye even as she turns her face towards Tina and Mercedes. “Why don’t you guys come with us?” Tina suggests, and a tiny thrill of giddy warmth curls in Brittany’s stomach. “You could bring Sam and we can all meet up for brunch at the same place at like ten? I think the mall opens at nine, but I _know_ none of us will want to get up earlier than we have to,” Tina laughs. “We could go out for supper afterwards too. It’ll be fun!” 

Mercedes turns to Brittany with a questioning look, her eye brow slightly raised as her eyes slide to Santana before pinning Brittany with that knowing look of hers; Brittany blushes despite herself. “What do you think?”

“I think,” Brittany says slowly, glancing around the coffee table before her eyes land and linger on Santana, “That sounds much better than laundry.”

Tina cheers and Mercedes gives Brittany a coy smile, but Brittany’s attention is caught completely by Santana’s bright, hopeful expression. “Cool,” she manages, and Brittany finally gets to see that adorably tough façade of hers, the exact same one Brittany imagined this morning, but so much better in person.

Mercedes and Tina start working out the details, huddling together to peer over Tina’s phone as they look for what stores are in the mall and what time it opens at and what the best idea for transportation is, but Brittany is suddenly struck by the realization that her and Santana will be spending the day with two other couples, two couples who are definitely, one-hundred percent _dating_. Brittany doesn’t mind playing the third wheel, she’s done it for the last month or so that Mercedes and Sam have been dating, and even longer if you count how long they just pined after each other, and she’s pretty sure that Santana has been playing the third wheel since college; but the thing is, is that Brittany doesn’t _want_ to be the third wheel tomorrow. She doesn’t want to just be the other half of a third wheel to a Mike-and-Tina and Mercedes-and-Sam double date; she wants to be the third part of a triple date. But she only wants that if Santana wants that, and she can’t know that unless she asks Santana, and she has to take a long drink from her cold coffee to steel her nerves.

She glances at Mercedes and Tina to double check that they’re sufficiently distracted, before she leans even closer to Santana, close enough that she actually _sees_ Santana’s breath hitch. Santana turns her head towards Brittany and suddenly her warm breath is fanning across the sensitive skin of Brittany’s face, and it’s as if every single nerve ending just woke up form a long sleep. “What?” Santana whispers.

“Is, uh, I mean—” Brittany breathes, “Mercedes and Sam are dating, and Mike and Tina are dating, so is this, um, you know? I mean, no pressure! Or anything. I don’t want it to be if you don’t. And uh— Yeah,” she finishes lamely. She knows she’s rambling and barely making any sense, but she can’t manage to stop herself or make herself coherent. When Santana’s eyes lock on hers something jolts up her spine; it feels a little bit like that time she got a little bit electrocuted by the tea urn that summer she worked in the kitchen of her neighbour’s family restaurant, like a thick current of pure energy just coursed through her veins and jerked her limbs, leaving her shaking and with a heavily pounding heart.

Santana’s expression is breathless and bright, her dark eyes wide and impossibly deep as she stares at Brittany. “I mean, it doesn’t have to be, if you don’t want it to be,” she mumbles.

Brittany swallows thickly, glancing quickly at Mercedes and Tina and finding them still distracted by Tina’s phone. “And if I want it to be?” she whispers.

Brittany can hear Santana suck in a sharp breath, and her eyes soften and liquify, like melting chocolate. “Then yeah,” Santana breathes, “It definitely could be.”

Brittany kind of can’t help it when she feels her softest smile spread across her face, and as Santana’s softest smile spreads in return, Brittany can feel that bright, lifting warmth in her chest again, and she’s suddenly desperate for Monday to arrive.


	9. it wasn’t much but it would do

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana learns that Brittany’s not just a ballerina; more than one person kind of has a crush on the Sugar Plum Fairy, but luckily for Santana there’s only one person the Sugar Plum Fairy kind of has a crush on in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song mentioned is “Dance” by DNCE, and [this choreography](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Sm8zm2u0EIg) is honestly just so fun and I watch it a lot tbh. ALSO we’re going to pretend that a mostly filler chapter didn’t end up being almost 4000 words.

Santana arrives at the theatre long before anyone has any right to be awake. There’s many things she loves about her job, arriving at the theatre before the sun has even peaked above the horizon and without coffee is definitely not one of them. She kind of wishes she had ignored her phone going off before six this morning, but when Karofsky’s name flashed across the top of the screen Santana knew there was a serious problem.

Karofsky greets her at the front door with a coffee, and Santana manages to mumble a greeting at him as she wraps her ice cold fingers around the warmth of the cup. It’s a far more bitter than she prefers, but just the scent of coffee as she raises it to her lips starts to ease the over-tired prickling behind her eyes. They make it almost backstage before Santana feels like she’s functioning enough for human interaction, and she finally turns to Karofsky with a yawn. “So remind me again why you called me in at the ass crack of dawn?”

Karofsky gives Santana a small smirk but is wise enough not to comment on Santana’s grumpiness; he may find her early morning grumbling amusing, but he doesn’t have a death wish. “Maintenance called me about an hour ago,” he explains, “Power outage reset the fly system and they need me to reconnect them because they don’t know how, and I need you because you have the show bible.”

Santana grunts and takes another sip of her coffee. “This is going to be a long day, isn’t it?”

* * *

It’s after eleven by the time Santana and Karofsky emerge from the dusty recesses of the farthest backstage crawlspaces, sneezing and sniffling from all the dust they’ve disturbed and inhaled over the past four hours. Santana’s coffee is long gone and the strands of her hair that have escaped her ponytail stick uncomfortably to her neck. “Ew,” she says as she grabs the back of her shirt and peels it from her skin, shaking it a little to let the cool air of the theatre dry the sweat at the small of her back. She retrieves her jacket and sweater from the chair her and Karofsky had been using to collect layers of clothes and their empty coffee cups.

Karofsky pulls his baseball cap off to run his hand through his short hair, quickly shoving his cap back onto his head to take his jacket and the empty coffee cups as Santana passes them to him. “Jesus,” he mutters, “That took way longer than it should have.”

“Your department is incompetent,” Santana comments mildly. 

Karofsky sighs. “Yeah, I know.”

“Brody should never have been hired as head of maintenance.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Azimio is a fucking dumbass.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I’m going to go and scream for a while before the show starts.”

Karofsky laughs and gives Santana an awkward little wave as she trudges through the theatre and he heads towards the front. Santana digs her phone out of the back pocket of her jeans, frustrated and in desperate need of a shower to wash the dust and sweat from her body. There’s a text from Brittany asking her if she wants a ride to the theatre this morning, and with a small pang of regret, she quickly unlocks her phone to send an apologetic text. She scrolls down to Tina next and quickly asks her if she can use the bathroom in her dressing room. She’ll have to change back into her sweaty, dusty clothes after, but she needs to feel at least a little human again before the matinee at one, and she just knows that the hot water will wash away the irritation she can feel bubbling beneath her skin. 

Tina doesn’t answer her message, she just calls her instead. Santana brings her phone to her ear as she dodges a couple people from the props department, eyeing them with disdain as their gazes linger on her and make her skin crawl. Puck and Finn have about three braincells to share between the two of them, and she’s already resolved to make their lives a living hell for outing her like the fucking dumbasses they are. 

“ _Why do you need my bathroom?_ ” Tina greets.

“Because I’ve been crawling around since before seven and trying to get maintenance and the automaton department to cooperate long enough for the show to actually have backdrops and not completely suck today.”

“ _Yikes_ ,” Tina laughs, “ _Yeah, go ahead and commandeer my bathroom then. I don’t need Ms. Grumpy-Pants Santana snapping at me all day_.”

Santana rolls her eyes and digs around in her front pocket for her set of master keys. “I would say thank you, but this is really me doing you a favour,” she says. Tina snorts and Santana mumbles a curse under her breath once she confirms that her keys are not in any of her jean pockets; and, she soon finds, they’re not in her jacket pocket either. “Fuck,” she mutters again, Tina’s muffled giggles filling her ears. “Can I borrow your keys?” Santana whines, allowing herself to feel petulant because this morning has just been one awful thing after another. “I think I left mine at home and I won’t have time to get them before the show.”

Tina doesn’t say anything about the whine in Santana’s voice, but Santana can hear the amused smirk in her response anyways. “ _I’m just in the smaller rehearsal room warming up, you can grab them on your way past_.”

Santana will actually have to backtrack through the theatre to get to the rehearsal rooms, but she doesn’t complain as she spins on her heel and heads in the direction she just came from; the comfort of a hot shower on her aching shoulders is too tempting to even risk Tina revoking her offer. “I’ll be there in, like, three minutes,” she says, barely waiting for Tina to respond before she hangs up and shoves her phone back in her pocket. 

She makes it to the hallway of rehearsal rooms in a minute and a half, heading for the farthest, and smallest, one. All the doors are still closed, but she can hear the pounding of a steady, energetic beat echoing towards her, the words of the song indecipherable until she’s almost at the door. 

“— _with me. Go to France with me. Beating heart, racing in my chest._ ”

She slows a little as she approaches the room, peeking in the door and instantly grinning at the sight that greets her. Tina, Jane, Mason, and Jake are standing in a loose semicircle, cheering on Brittany and Mike as they effortlessly spin to the beat; everyone dressed in loose sweats and sneakers. Brittany and Mike both have the snap of a softened rubber band, liquid and strong as they jerk their limbs together as if they were actually programmed to move in perfect sync. Brittany grabs Mike’s hand and quickly spins him into an improvised waltz, falling slightly out of rhythm as they start giggling. They quickly drop back into the beat as if it’s nothing and Santana’s smile widens, leaning against the doorway as her stress from the morning fades away at the pure joy on Brittany and Mike’s faces, their grins bright and carefree and happy. Of course everyone in the company is an amazing dancer, but there’s something about Brittany and Mike that is unparalleled, whether they’re doing choreographed ballet on stage or dancing freestyle in a tiny rehearsal room, they both move like they were born with music in their bones.

“ _‘Cause I can’t stop thinking about you. No I can’t stop thinking about you_.”

Blue eyes meet hers across the room, and Brittany misses half a beat to smile widely at Santana, her hand lifting in an enthusiastic wave, before she falls back in step with Mike as if she hadn’t paused at all, her movements somehow even sharper and smoother than they were just a few seconds ago.

“You should close your mouth,” Tina says idly from right beside her, and Santana jumps and snaps her eyes to her best friend who has, apparently, materialized out of thin air, “You’ll catch flies.”

“She can dance,” Santana says dumbly, her eyes drifting back to watch Brittany. Her crop top reveals pale, freckled skin as she moves with a slow ripple of her entire body, and it makes Santana more than a little dizzy.

Tina smirks and taps Santana’s chin, urging her mouth closed. “Duh,” she smirks. “Try not to drool too much.”

Santana turns distressed eyes on her best friend. “No, I mean she can _dance_ ,” she repeats. Tina just smiles knowingly. “She’s perfect and amazing and hilarious and sweet and snarky and smart,” Santana whines, “I’m literally so screwed.”

Tina presses the keys to her dressing room into Santana’s hands with a smirk. “For cold water, use the tap on the right,” she teases.

“Tina,” Santana groans, “How am I going to _survive_ tomorrow, let alone this whole month?”

“Try a date,” Tina suggests easily, shoving Santana out the door. “Now go, you smell like old books and gym class.”

“ _Be my only one, and only for me. I’ll be your amor, be my Mon Chéri_.”

Santana groans as she trudges back down the hallway, the lyrics fading to incoherence long before the beat fades; Santana’s pretty sure she feels it in her chest all the way back to Tina’s dressing room anyways.

* * *

Santana is pretty sure two two-show days in a row should be illegal, and she’s more than a little exhausted as she trudges around backstage, occasionally mumbling into her headset to direct Zizes or Quinn. Despite her earlier shower, she still feels gross and sweaty, and all she wants is to go home and collapse into her bed and sleep for about seven days, the evening show today be damned.

Zizes and Quinn finally finish up their stuff, and Santana turns her headset off, revelling in the blessed silence for about two seconds before someone calls her name, and Santana would feel irritated if said someone wasn’t about four feet tall and calling her _Ms. Lopez_.

Backstage is pretty deserted already, everyone running off to shove lunch down their throats before warmup for the evening show starts, so Santana easily spots the party girl trying to get her attention, a thick winter jacket making her look like a tiny purple Michelin Man, the tightly coiled curls of her dark hair in wildly bouncing pigtails as she chases Santana down. Santana crouches down with only slight protests from her knees, until she’s eye level with the girl. Quinn mostly manages the children, so she doesn’t really know any of them all that well, but she finds them pretty cute—that is, when they aren’t being little brats and siccing their dance moms on her. 

“Ms. Lopez,” the girl says breathlessly as she reaches Santana, a shy smile on her face, her hands tucked behind her back as she leans back on her heels.

Santana’s heart clenches a little at the name; her mom was always _Ms. Lopez_ to all of Santana’s friends when she was little, and it makes Santana more than a little nostalgic. “You can call me Santana,” she says quietly.

The girl bites her lip for a moment before offering Santana another shy smile. “Okay, Santana,” she says, eyes wide and nervous like she’ll get in trouble for calling an adult by their first name even though Santana told her to, “I’m Freddie.”

“Nice to meet you Freddie,” Santana smiles. Freddie nods but doesn’t say anything else, just sways back and forth nervously. “What’s up?” Santana finally says when Freddie just continues to stare wide eyed at Santana.

She sucks in a sharp breath and glances away, breathless and glowing as she nervously pulls one hand from behind her back and shoves it under Santana’s nose. Santana goes a little cross-eyed and pulls back so she can actually see, feeling her heart melt when she realizes that it’s a small daisy under her nose. 

“Is this for me?” Santana asks softly.

Freddie won’t meet her eyes but nods, almost violently, and shoves the flower a little further.

Santana takes the flower and traces the petals delicately before smiling at Freddie, who still refuses to look at her. “What’s it for?” Santana prompts gently.

Freddie shrugs and finally meets Santana’s eyes for about a millisecond before she looks down and studies her shoes, tapping the toes of her winter boots together. “I heard the snow corps leader talking about you,” she mumbles into the collar of her Michelin Man jacket, and Santana clenches her notebook in her hand, purposefully focusing her anger there so she doesn’t crush the flower. She’s pretty sure she’s going to actually kill that snowflake bitch before the end of the show’s run. “And I didn’t know what she meant,” Freddie continues, “so I asked my moms last night and they said she was just being a bully and then they told me why everyone’s been talking about you like how they talk about my moms and it made them sad, and I always give my moms flowers when they’re feeling sad until they’re happy again, and then I was worried that you would feel sad too so I asked if I could bring you a flower and give to you too and make you happy again.” 

Santana sucks in a deep breath and shakes her head a little, her chest bursting with warmth. “That’s very sweet of you, Freddie,” Santana says, and the little girl grows flustered and ducks her head even further down, “Thank you.”

Freddie shrugs one shoulder a little, more twitch than actual shrug. “You’re welcome,” she mumbles. 

Santana’s smile widens as she thumbs the stem of the flower. “I’d love to stay, but I’ve still got to work while the rest of you eat,” she says, “You make sure your moms buy you something as sweet as you are.” Freddie giggles and blushes a little, looking up at Santana with bright eyes. Santana stands and pokes Freddie in the shoulder. “If they don’t you come straight to me and I’ll make sure you get your dessert fix,” she promises, and Freddie giggles again and nods quickly as Santana turns to leave. 

She only makes it about three steps before Freddie’s voice stops her again. “Wait, Santana!” she calls, tugging at Santana’s hand before Santana had even heard her move.

Santana glances down at the girl attached to her arm and smiles a little, humming in question.

“I was also wondering, I mean, if you could, would you?” Freddie stutters. 

Santana smiles and crouches back down. Freddie reminds her of her little cousins, back when she was still welcome at her abuela’s house, and even if it brings a pang to her chest to remember that, she can’t help the smile she manages to give Freddie because Freddie is too sweet and adorable not to. “You can tell me,” she says, “I won’t laugh, I promise.” 

Freddie takes a deep breath and looks up at Santana, blushing furiously if her breathless, flustered expression is anything to go by. “You’re friends with the Sugar Plum Fairy, right?” she whispers. 

Santana can’t help it when she feels her smile soften into something she knows is entirely too fond. “Yeah, I am.” 

Freddie’s eyes widen and she leans forward a little. “Really?” she gasps as if she can’t quite believe it. 

Santana grins. “Really, really,” she promises. 

“She’s really pretty,” Freddie whispers shyly, and Santana finds her smile widening easily. 

“She is, isn’t she?” 

“Like— Like— Like fairy pretty!” 

Blue eyes and blonde hair and fading freckles and soft pink lips fill Santana’s mind and she slowly twirls the daisy between her thumb and forefinger. “Yeah,” she agrees with a soft smile, “But she’s prettier than any fairy I know.” 

Freddie agrees with a serious nod, before pulling out a second daisy and offering it to Santana. “Would you give this to her for me?” she whispers, her eyes wide and guileless and pleading. 

Santana takes the flower from the girl with gentle seriousness. “Of course I would,” she says. 

Freddie’s face breaks into an awed smile and she throws herself at Santana for a fumbling hug before taking off, throwing an excited wave over her shoulder. Santana smiles as she carefully presses the two daisies together, their stems twining and curling against each other, before she tucks them carefully into her pocket.

Santana shakes her head, standing with a small groan as she makes her way to the principal hallway, practically begging the universe to give her at least a couple minutes of peace. She makes it safely to Brittany’s dressing room, only having to duck into the shadows to avoid Blaine once on her way; he looks like she’s looking for her, but she can’t bring herself to care because if she doesn’t get some peace she’s going to end up shoving that bowtie down his throat. She pulls the daisies out of her pocket before knocking on Brittany’s door, only waiting a moment for Brittany’s invitation in before she pushes the door open.

Brittany’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, her back against the couch and her legs tucked under the coffee table and a spread of food in front of her. 

Santana pauses in the doorway, her eyes darting all over the coffee table, taking in the cups of coffee and containers of food, before landing on Brittany’s face; her pale skin is splotched with pink on the peak of her cheeks, her blue eyes bright and glowing, and a tiny, almost sheepish, smile tugging at her lips. “What’s all this?” Santana manages.

Brittany shrugs one shoulder, her eyes falling away for a moment before darting back up to meet Santana’s eyes, the pretty blush on her cheeks darkening. “Tina said you had a rough day,” she explains, gesturing at the coffee table, “And I still owe you supper, so.” 

Santana feels a little bit like she might just melt right into the floor, something deep in her chest spasming at the nervously hopeful look on Brittany’s face. “Britt,” she sighs, unable to keep the soft smile off her face.

“I just—” Brittany shrugs again. “Wanted to see you smile,” she mumbles.

Santana’s breath catches in her chest, and she realizes that it’s getting more and more impossible to ignore that she’s definitely falling hard for Brittany. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

“You’re welcome,” Brittany whispers, just as soft, her eyes caught on Santana’s for a long moment before she clears her throat and glances away. “I, uh, I got— What’s that?”

Santana blinks and glances at where Brittany’s pointing, her eyes landing on the daisies in her hand. She smiles and finally steps fully into the room, closing the door behind her and kicking off her shoes before Brittany can even say anything. She tosses her notebook and phone on the couch behind them and sinks down beside Brittany, misjudging the distance a little bit and ending up with her knee pressed against Brittany’s; Brittany doesn’t move away, so Santana lets their knees remain pressed together, warmth radiating from the spot. She turns to Brittany, holding up the daisies for her inspection. 

“Do you know Freddie? One of the party girls?”

Brittany nods with a small smile. “Yeah! She’s so sweet. And her moms are really chill and so unlike every other dance mom I’ve ever met.”

Santana giggles, knowing exactly what Brittany means. “Well, she caught me on my way here. She heard about, you know, everything, and wanted to give me a flower to make me feel better.”

“Aww,” Brittany coos, “That’s so cute.”

Santana smiles, carefully untangling the stems of the daisies and setting her own on the coffee table before angling herself towards Brittany. “What’s even cuter is the massive crush she has on the Sugar Plum Fairy,” she says, handing the remaining daisy to Brittany. 

“Really?” Brittany brightens as she takes the daisy, her fingers brushing Santana’s and sending goosebumps racing along Santana’s arm. “That is even cuter,” she agrees, twirling the stem between her fingers. 

“So, Sugar Plum Fairy,” Santana teases, nudging Brittany with her elbow, “Does she have a chance?”

Brittany smirks, but it fades into something much softer when she meets Santana’s eyes, so soft that Santana suddenly becomes aware of how loud her heartbeat pounds throughout her body; Santana falls into the clearest pool of blue she’s ever seen, and the moment suddenly feels so much bigger and brighter than it did a second ago.

“I don’t think so,” Brittany finally whispers, her blue eyes glowing with nerves and something brighter, almost hopeful, “The Sugar Plum Fairy kinda already likes someone else.”

Santana’s breath catches sharply; she can’t quite squash the hope blooming and fluttering in every nerve ending of her body. “Oh yeah?”

Brittany nods slowly, her eyes never leaving Santana’s. “Yeah,” she breathes. 

Santana feels like she’s barely breathing as Brittany’s eyes remain locked on hers, everything Santana’s ever hoped for flickering across her face, and she’s about to answer when her phone rings right beside her head and makes both of them jump. 

They glance away sheepishly, both blushing and bashful, as Santana reaches around to grab her phone. Brittany places her daisy beside Santana’s and starts digging into the food, dividing it up and pushing different containers towards each of them, while Santana fumbles with her phone until she manages to swipe her thumb across the bottom and answer it. Santana sighs once she realizes she should have checked the caller ID first, because the only acceptable reason for interrupting her time with Brittany is a major emergency, and whatever Blaine is whining about in her ear is not anywhere near important enough to warrant cutting into her Brittany time.

Brittany’s waiting patiently, but Santana waves her towards the food with an eye roll. She covers the speaker and tucks it against the hinge of her jaw. “Go ahead and eat,” she whispers, “It’s just the Chia Pet with that poor butterfly stitched to his neck, not important at all.”

Brittany giggles too loud and Santana quickly hushes her around her own smile. She turns back and cracks open a container and starts eating while Santana half-listens to Blaine complain in her ear; admiring exactly how adorable Brittany is takes up most of her attention, and she really can’t bring herself to care at all. She reaches forwards and grabs the coffee Brittany had placed in front of her, and when she takes a sip she’s pleasantly surprised to find that it tastes perfect, exactly the way she prefers it. She glances at Brittany, who’s currently chewing on a couple fries and smiles a little, warmth ballooning up in her chest. Brittany catches her staring and flushes a little, motioning towards the coffee cup with a fry, one brow quirked in question. 

Santana feels her smile soften, and Brittany’s softens in turn, like the faint streams of sunbeams through the curtains on a Sunday morning, as she nods. “It’s perfect,” she breathes, answering Brittany’s unspoken question but meaning something much more important.

Brittany bites down on her lip, white teeth sinking into perfect pink, and flushes, laughing lightly as she turns back to her lunch. Blaine shrieks something in Santana’s ear, but her all of her attention remains focused on Brittany’s pretty blush as she absently responds to Blaine. 

Santana kind of can’t wait for the show to end tonight, because once the show ends she can go home and go to bed, and that means she’s that much closer to tomorrow; she doesn’t think she’s ever been this excited to wake up before nine on a Monday morning in her entire life.


	10. bad jokes and brandy and music and games

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany’s pretty sure she just might be the luckiest person in the world because she gets to have Santana’s dimple-cheeked, scrunched-nose smile directed at her for most of the day; Santana might be really sneaky, but she’s also really sweet.

For the first time in possibly months, Brittany jumps right out of bed as soon as her alarm goes off, even before Mercedes is awake, humming as she brushes her teeth and hops into the shower. After staying up gushing with Mercedes about the fact that Santana also wants today to be a date, even if neither of them had actually _said_ the word date, she had thought she would be too giddy and excited to actually sleep, but after eight shows in six days, Brittany’s body was more exhausted than her mind was excited, and she ended up falling asleep quickly.

When she gets out of the shower she quickly dries her hair and rubs moisturizer into her skin before she grabs her phone, smiling widely as she responds to Santana’s morning text. Her and Mercedes are lucky enough to have two bathrooms in their apartment and still not pay a ridiculous amount in rent, but Mercedes has the double luck of having the room with the ensuite while Brittany commandeers the main bathroom. Brittany’s never minded having to wander down the hallway for the bathroom because she generally keeps her stuff pretty neat, so there’s no cleanliness problems. The only issue they’ve ever had about it is the fact that the main bathroom is right at the beginning of the hall to their bedrooms and the storage closet, which means that as soon as Brittany steps out of the bathroom she’s practically in the living room and kitchen. The set up of their apartment has led to manyembarrassing introductions as Brittany stumbled backwards to her bedroom, tugging her towel further down her legs, while Mercedes’ friends sat, wide-eyed, on the couch and Mercedes hovered between the two with an awkward _And this is my roommate, Brittany._ Thankfully that hasn’t happened since the first year they lived together, and nowadays Mercedes is always careful to warn Brittany when she’s inviting people over.

Brittany quickly runs a brush through her hair before she heads out of the bathroom to go get dressed, planning on drying her hair after. Mercedes is already in the kitchen, and she blinks in surprise as Brittany emerges from the bathroom in a swirl of steam, checking the clock and then glancing at Brittany a couple times in shock; Brittany barely notices her, hovering in front of the bathroom door and texting Santana. Mercedes remains dumbstruck until she finally registers something even stranger than Brittany being up _and_ showered by this time. “Is that—” she gasps, “Are you humming _Christmas_ music?”

Brittany rolls her eyes, caught, and shrugs. “So what if I am?”

“Are you kidding?” Mercedes laughs, “Ms. I-refuse-to-let-you-decorate-since-you’re-going-away-for-Christmas-and-I’ll-be-stuck-looking-at-it-Humbug voluntarily humming _Christmas_ music? And Mariah Carey no less? Hallelujah, it’s a Christmas miracle!”

“You got it stuck in my head the other day,” Brittany accuses, pointing threateningly at Mercedes.

Mercedes’ smirk widens. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain production stage manager, would it?”

Brittany rolls her eyes again and tightens her grip on the hem of her towel where it’s tucked neatly against her breast, tapping her phone against her thigh. “She doesn’t really like Christmas either,” Brittany says.

“Hmm,” Mercedes says in a tone that implies she has a lot more to say, especially if her sparkling eyes are anything to go by.

“What? What’s _hmm_?”

Mercedes shrugs and drums her fingers on the counter, waiting until Brittany is shifting impatiently and about to leave before she continues. “Well, it does seem like something right out of a Hallmark Christmas movie.”

Brittany’s about to retort when she pauses, tipping her head to the side as Mercedes’ words fully process. “How so?”

Mercedes’ grin widens as she straightens. “Are you kidding? This could be a plot straight-out of a movie airing at nine p.m. on the twenty-second: Two Christmas humbugs learning to love the holiday again with each other?”

Brittany sighs and shifts a little, studying her toes for a long moment. “Hallmark Christmas movies always have a happy ending, right?” she asks shyly. 

Mercedes melts as she rounds the counter and crosses the apartment until she can grab one of Brittany’s hands, soothingly working the tension out of the soft parts of her palm. “It’s not a Hallmark movie if the two leads don’t smooch their way to a Christmas miracle,” she whispers.

Brittany takes a deep breath before she meets Mercedes’ eyes, one side of her mouth quirked up in a dreamy, lopsided smile. “Then I’m okay with being the lead in a cheesy, mediocre Christmas movie that people only watch because it’s the season and there’s nothing else on,” she says cheekily, and Mercedes grins at how soft and warm and adoring Brittany’s eyes go, “as long as Santana’s the other lead.”

Mercedes laughs and tugs Brittany into a quick hug, damp towel and clammy skin and all. “I don’t think you have to worry about that,” she says easily, “I don’t think you have to worry about that at all.”

* * *

Tina, Mike, and Santana are already sitting in the corner booth by the time Mercedes, Sam, and Brittany arrive; they look the exact same as when Brittany spotted them last week, with Mike’s arm stretched across the back of the booth and Tina curled into his side, Santana sitting across from them as they all fondly tease each other. Mike catches sight of them first and waves, and everything is the exact same as last week except Santana looks less like she’s got thrown in the river and more like an actual goddess.

Her hair’s down again, like it was at the grocery store on Tuesday, and it falls in soft waves around her shoulders, and when her dark eyes meet Brittany’s across the restaurant as she cranes her neck over the booth to wave at her, Brittany almost swallows her tongue. She’s almost certain that Santana holds the position of the prettiest person in the entire world, and when she directs that dimple-cheeked, scrunched-nose smile at Brittany, Brittany pretty much feels like the luckiest person in the entire world.

Mercedes nudges Brittany and Brittany manages to blink out of her dimple-induced daze in time to wave back at Santana before the long pause gets too awkward. Mercedes chuckles knowingly at Brittany as they head across the restaurant, and Brittany just sticks her tongue out at Mercedes in response.

As soon as they reach the booth and greet everyone, shrugging out of their jackets and hanging them on the coatracks attached to the walls dividing booths, Sam looks expectantly at Mercedes, waiting for her to slide into the booth beside Santana so they can sit together. Before she sits, Mercedes makes the mistake of glancing at Brittany, who has that pleading kicked puppy-dog pout of hers, and instead Mercedes just rolls her eyes fondly and ushers Brittany into the booth to sit right beside Santana, nodding at the open space beside Tina for Sam to slide into. He looks a little confused, but just shrugs and complies; Brittany wants to hug Mercedes, but instead she just squeezes her hand in thanks as she slides in beside Santana, their thighs and arms pressing together. There’s a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee already on the table for Brittany, and she looks at Santana in question.

Santana gives a one armed shrug and smiles at Brittany, soft and breathless, and Brittany’s pretty sure if she lifted a hand to touch Santana’s cheeks they would be blush-warm. “Thanks,” Brittany whispers.

Santana just shrugs again, her eyes darting down to the table for a moment before catching on Brittany’s again. “You’re welcome,” she murmurs.

Their attention is drawn across the table as their waitress, the same one from last week, appears with three menus, handing them out to Sam, Mercedes, and Brittany. “Wow, these guys managed to keep you around for a full week,” she teases, “The holiday season really is full of miracles.”

Mike and Santana both stick their tongues out at the waitress in perfect sync, while Tina just rolls her eyes and takes a sip of her hot chocolate. Brittany giggles at the exchange; she loves watching how worn into each other Santana and Tina and Mike are, because they have this teasing easiness between them that makes her feel completely comfortable with them. The waitress winks at them before taking Sam and Mercedes’ drink orders, eyeing the orange juice and coffee in front of Brittany before casting a sly glance at Santana, who instantly flushes, before disappearing back to the kitchen. The restaurant isn’t that busy, there’s a couple of exhausted looking college students nursing coffees and their heads, a couple of nicely dressed businesspeople with their laptops and notebooks shoved to the side of the table so they can eat, a group of seniors taking advantage of their breakfast discount, and a mom out with her two kids, all three of them colouring on the placemats as the older girl narrates her coming day and the younger girl quietly sings along to the Christmas music crooning from speakers hidden around the restaurant. Sam starts wondering whether to get an omelet or pancakes again, while Mercedes quietly reads the menu, pretending she doesn’t know her boyfriend or Mike, who have gotten into a friendly argument about the best item on the menu over Tina’s head. 

Brittany just grins at them, exchanging an amused glance with Santana at their bickering friends. She feels warm and full, the garland along the back of the booth tickling her neck a little as she sighs and leans back into her seat, taking in the warm scent of breakfast food and coffee, Christmas spices and sweets, citrus and vanilla. Santana casts a small smile at her as she reaches for her coffee, and the warmth in Brittany’s chest blooms a little bit. It’s been years since she let herself actually enjoy Christmas, what with her family on the other side of the country every year and Mercedes always back home for the week before Christmas, it’s usually just another day for her, and aside from a couple gifts for a couple people, she doesn’t even do holiday shopping past October. 

But there’s something new about this year, a spark she hasn’t felt since the last Christmas she spent with her family in her first year of college, and she finds herself actually starting to look forward to the coming weeks as the joyful chaos of the approaching holiday descends on the city.

She’s so lost in thought, that she doesn’t even realize that so much time has passed until the waitress is teasing the regulars at the table again, and she glances up with a start. Mike, Tina, and Santana have already placed their orders, and Mercedes and Sam are still looking over the menus, so the waitress turns to Brittany. “What can I get for you, hon?”

Brittany grins and hands the menu back to the waitress without ever having opened it. “The Sunshine Special, please.” The waitress nods and tucks the menu back under her arm before turning to the other two.

Santana’s hand falls briefly on her thigh, the pressure feather light and ticklish and tingling, retreating as soon as Brittany turns her attention to her. “You don’t want to try something else?” she asks quietly.

Brittany shrugs and ducks her head down before she manages to meet Santana’s eyes. “You said it was your favourite,” she admits, “So now it’s my favourite too.”

Santana sucks in a sharp breath as she stares at Brittany, and Brittany gets that falling feeling she sometimes gets when she catches Santana’s eyes, tingling at the base of her spine and spreading throughout her body, like she’s free falling without a parachute and her nerves are all alive and electric. Santana opens her mouth to say something, but snaps it closed a moment later, shaking her head and offering Brittany that smile that scrunches her nose and reveals those adorable dimples. “You’re something else, you know that, Britt?”

Brittany grins and pretends to buff her nails on her shirt, ignoring how her face flames. “Well, I do so try,” she teases.

Santana just pokes playfully at her shoulder, her grin so wide and happy Brittany’s pretty sure she’s going to see it in her dreams.

* * *

By the time they get to the mall it’s almost ten thirty, and despite it being a Monday the stores and corridors are packed and more than a little chaotic. Santana presses close against Brittany as a woman with a stroller narrowly avoids running over Santana’s toes, earning a glare from the blonde as she tracks her movement through the crowd over Santana’s head. Santana grumbles something under her breath that sounds more like cursing than anything, and it brings a tugging smile to Brittany’s lips as Santana straightens and draws half a step away from Brittany, still close enough that their jackets scratch together where they’re draped over their arms. Their group of six huddles together, deciding on a meet up place and time. Mike and Sam want to go check out Radio Shack (Brittany’s pretty sure Sam is looking to get Mercedes a _nice_ pair of headphones, otherwise she would be pushing for them to all go together), Tina needs a new pair of shoes and wants to look for a purse for her mom, and Mercedes wants to look into getting some skin care stuff for her brother, who’s been suffering a flare up of eczema with the cold weather; when the group turns to Brittany and Santana to find what they’re looking for, they both just shrug and respond with _nothing in particular_. They all decide to meet back at the food court in a couple hours to grab a snack and figure out whether they need to reconfigure the group divisions for certain stores, and certain gifts, and what else to do for the day.

Mike and Sam take off in one direction, while Mercedes and Tina discuss the best way to hit the stores they need, before they’re taking off in another.

“I didn’t get a chance to ask before,” Brittany says, and Santana has to press close to her again to hear her over the crowd as they trail behind Mercedes and Tina. Brittany tips her head down so she can speak almost directly into Santana’s ear, but she nearly goes careening into an old man as she takes her eyes off the crowd around her; Santana solves this by placing her hand on the small of Brittany’s back to guide her through the crowd. Brittany might be biased, but she’s pretty sure Santana’s warm palm pressing to her back through her thin knit sweater is, like, the best feeling in the entire world. 

“What did you wanna ask, Britt?” Santana prompts.

Brittany manages to shake out of her daze, which is more than a little difficult when Santana’s fingers dig gently into her skin to guide her out of the way of a large family with kids no taller than their knees running around and carelessly tripping up strangers. “Oh!” she says, leaning a little closer until she’s practically breathing her words right into Santana’s ear so she can actually hear them, “Just, uh, are you buying gifts for anyone?”

Santana shivers, and Brittany pouts a little because she knows how easily Santana gets cold; the urge to wrap her into her own warm embrace is nearly overpowering. “Not really,” she says, her eyes on the crowd around them as they dodge an adorable old couple who must be collectively about a hundred and seventy years old. “Just Tina and Mike,” she says. “What about you?”

Brittany blinks at the change in subject. “Just my sister and Mercedes and Sam. My parents don’t let my sister and I get them presents, so. But I already got all their stuff months ago since I have to ship my sister’s to California, and it’s just easier to get Mercedes and Sam’s gifts at the same time. What about your family?”

“Um,” Santana hesitates for a long moment before she draws her attention away from the crowd to glance up at Brittany. “Most of my family didn’t take it very well when they found out I was gay.”

Brittany just stares at Santana, searching for something, _anything_ , to say, before landing on what feels like a completely inadequate, “I’m so sorry.” Santana shrugs but before Brittany can question her further, Mercedes and Tina are calling for them, urging them into some nearby department store. Santana gives Brittany a warm smile and guides them through the rushing crowd, safely navigating them to the other side before gesturing for Brittany to enter the store first with an overdramatic bow.

“My hero,” Brittany giggles, and Santana flushes but gives Brittany that dimpled smile that makes Brittany’s stomach swoop like she’s falling as they follow Mercedes and Tina into the store.

They trail after the other girls, making a game of pointing out the most ridiculous items they see, trying their hardest to make Mercedes and Tina break and start laughing, while Mercedes and Tina try their hardest to pretend they don’t know them.

They pass the toy aisle on their way to the men’s clothing department for Mercedes to pick out a tie for her dad, when Santana spots a toy nutcracker at the end of the aisle. She gives Brittany a wide smirk as she grabs it and quickly starts to reenact one of the scenes they all know by heart; Mercedes and Tina stare, horrified, for a beat, before their loud laughter joins Brittany’s and Santana’s. Brittany spots a stuffed mouse just a couple steps down the aisle and swipes it, quickly taking on the role of the Mouse King to Santana’s nutcracker. Tina even does her part for the reenacted scene and dings Brittany in the head with her shoe, except said shoe is actually a package of Kleenex, for which Brittany is grateful for because Tina’s actually wearing boots that would probably really hurt if she got hit in the head with them.

A middle aged women gives them all looks of disapproval as she passes them, sharply turning the corner and sticking her nose up in the air, and Tina and Santana both stick their tongues out at her, much to Mercedes and Brittany’s amusement. Mercedes and Tina wander off towards the men’s clothing department, while Santana backtracks a couple aisles to put the nutcracker back with the others, leaving Brittany in the deserted stuffed animal aisle as she tosses the mouse back with its stuffed brothers and sisters.

She’s just heading back up the aisle when a small box of animal keychains catch her eyes; there’s dolphins and dogs and lions and wolves, but what really stops her in her tracks and makes her heart ache is the plump brown tabby that sits on top of all the others. Brittany pauses and glances around, finding this section of the store still deserted, before she grabs the charm and holds it up to the light. It looks just like Tubbs, right down to his pale green eyes and seemingly permanently curled tail. She can’t stop the smile or the tears she feels prickling her eyes as she fingers the charm, tracing over the swirling patterns of dark stripes against the dusky brown.

She doesn’t hear Santana come up behind her until her voice is right in her ear. “You should get it,” Santana says, and Brittany only barely contains her jump. “Sorry,” Santana mumbles, but the soft, amused look in her dark eyes means she’s anything but, “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Brittany shakes her head a little. “You didn’t scare me,” she lies.

Santana snorts a little. “Sure.”

“You _startled_ me, at most.”

“Right,” Santana drawls, drawing out the word until Brittany giggles.

“Fine, fine,” she concedes around a wide smile, “You scared me, a _little._ ”

Santana smirks at her, but it softens as soon as she meets Brittany’s eyes. “I meant what I said,” she says, her body swinging a little bit closer until their jackets scratch against each other as she nods at the charm, “You should get it.”

Brittany fingers the cat’s tail with a small smile. “It looks just like him,” she agrees, “But I dunno. It’s kind of childish, isn’t it?”

Santana’s eyes are steady on hers, and Brittany fights the clenching in her chest. “I don’t think it is,” she says honestly.

Brittany shrugs, and is about to respond when Mercedes voice calls her attention away. She puts the charm back on top of the pile on auto pilot and trudges over to her best friend, exiting the toy aisle and walking the short distance to the men’s clothing department to help Mercedes pick between two ties for her father, Santana trailing behind her. Mercedes ends up deciding against both of ties, and they all wander to the front of the store empty handed. She gets caught up in texting her sister for a moment as she distractedly trails behind the other girls, slipping her phone back into her pocket as they emerge back into the rushing crowd, and only then does she notice that they’re missing half of their group.

“Where’s Santana and Tina?” she says aloud.

Mercedes shrugs. “Tina wanted to buy something and she dragged Santana along with her, something about needing Santana’s opinion, I dunno. They said they’ll meet us in the next store.”

Brittany cranes her neck to glance back in the store, but she can’t see the cash registers at this angle so she just shrugs and follows Mercedes into the next store. Barely two minutes later, Santana and Tina are wandering in the front of the store, Tina’s eyes quickly alighting on a purse in the display case as Santana’s eyes alight on Brittany, both of them brightening as they cross the store to the respective object and person who has caught their attention.

“What did Tina get?” Brittany asks as Santana steps up beside her.

“Huh?” Santana says blankly.

“At the last store,” Brittany clarifies, “Mercedes said Tina needed your opinion on something.”

“Oh!” Santana says as they slowly move to the next shelf of shoes, “Uh, she got—”

“Just a lipgloss colour,” Tina chimes in from behind them. Santana and Brittany glance over their shoulders as Tina reaches them. “Santana’s always making fun of whatever colour I choose,” she explains to Brittany, “So I forced her to help me so she can’t complain anymore.”

“Oh, I’ll still complain,” Santana promises. Tina goes to shove her but Santana dances out of the way, right into Brittany, who quickly reaches out to steady her. There’s many things about today that Brittany’s really enjoying, but she thinks perhaps the best is the blush-hot shy smile that Santana gives her every time she falls into her personal space.

When the leave this store, again empty handed, Brittany decides its her turn to guide Santana through the crowd, and catches Santana’s full-body shiver against her palm as she rests it over the small of Santana’s back. Santana glances at her with a soft smile, falling in perfect step beside Brittany until their hips brush together with every step.

Brittany’s pretty sure she could get used to this.

* * *

They emerge from the mall a couple hours later, everyone with at least one bag aside from Santana and Brittany, who had been too busy huddling together and giggling to actually pay attention to anything in the stores. They trail behind the others, only half listening as Sam starts to excitedly talk about some arcade they should all go to. Mike and Tina glance at each other and shrug in agreement, and Sam launches into a long and over-informative explanation of the arcade, including how the prize system works, most of the menu of the attached restaurant, a list of all the games, and even their physical layout.

“Nerd,” Santana calls teasingly.

Sam turns so he’s walking backwards and gives Santana a broad grin, his arms spread so wide he almost takes out a couple of unsuspecting pedestrians. “You know it. You in?”

Santana shrugs and glances up at Brittany, and it takes Brittany a couple moments to realize that Santana’s asking for her answer first. She smiles widely and nods, a thrill arcing through her at the thought of her and Santana being a package deal.

“Sure,” Santana says as she turns back to Sam, “Why not?”

Sam cheers and finally turns back around to lead them down the sidewalk. They make it about a block and a half when Brittany realizes that Santana’s shivering, her shoulders up by her ears and her jaw trembling a little. Brittany grins and gently touches Santana on the back of her hand to get her attention; her nose is red and her cheeks are pinked and raw from the cold wind. Brittany holds one arm up in invitation and Santana doesn’t hesitate before she tucks herself into Brittany’s side, her arm snaking around Brittany’s hip as she cuddles closer, Brittany’s own arm settling comfortably over her shoulder. Brittany’s always ran more hot than most people, which always makes her the best cuddle buddy in winter, something both Mercedes and Sam have told her many times during their movie nights. Though she’s only wearing a light jacket, like Santana, she’s still comfortably warm, unlike Santana. And honestly, having Santana tucked into her side is kind of a dream come true, because she can feel every single breath Santana takes and every giggle she lets out, and it makes Brittany feel even warmer than she was before.

Mike holds the door open for everyone once they get to the arcade, and though Brittany is reluctant to let Santana out of her embrace, she’s actually pretty excited for the arcade. The last time she went to one she was in elementary school and her dad was treating her for doing so well at one of her dance competition; usually they would have gone camping in celebration, but her mom was eight months pregnant with Brittany’s little sister at the time and too far along, and much too uncomfortable, to do any camping.

Sam bounces to the front counter and deals with all the logistics while the rest of them crowd off to the side of the door so they aren’t in the way. Sam returns barely five minutes later with everything they need, passing out Power Cards for everyone and giving a brief rundown on how they work before leading them into the actual arcade. There’s an entrance to the restaurant attached off of the first room they enter, but the rest of the arcade is huge, so much bigger than the small town one Brittany’s dad had taken her to all those years ago. There’s barely anyone else here, on account of it being a Monday afternoon before school lets out, so they just wander through the arcade first, pointing out games to each other and reminiscing on old memories of playing them what feels like forever ago. There’s old retro games like _Pac-Man_ and _Skee-Ball_ and _Super Shot_ mixed in with some newer games like _Candy Crush_ and _Angry Birds_ and _Mario & Sonic at the Rio 2016 Olympic Games_; Brittany even spots a _Dance Dance Revolution_ , and she already knows that as soon as their group spots it that it’ll be where they spend most of the afternoon.

Sam and Mike spot some old game that they both used to play when they were kids, and they drag the rest of the group over to crowd around and watch them. They crush the game, despite it probably being over a decade since they last played it, and manage to edge out the last two players who were in tenth place, their names proudly displayed on the scoreboard. They urge Mercedes and Tina to go next, and they barely make it through the third level, much to everyone’s amusement, and before Brittany knows it, her and Santana are being pushed to the console next. 

Their names flash as _Britt-Britt_ and _Snix_ , and Santana’s nose crinkles up. “Snix,” she says, directing her glare at Tina. 

Tina just shrugs. “You gave yourself that name, not me,” she teases.

“Yeah, when I was drunk and crying.”

“Not my fault you’re an emo drunk.”

“ _Emotional_ drunk! Not emo! You’re the one who had a goth phase, not me!”

“Santana!” Sam shouts, “The game’s starting.”

Santana’s attention snaps back to the game, and Brittany is a little distracted by how adorable Santana is when she’s flustered from being teased and determined to win the game, her cheeks flushed and tongue poking out between her teeth just a little bit. Brittany’s so distracted that she loses a life before she manages to refocus on the game, and then Brittany and Santana are breezing through the first couple levels.

They don’t place or anything, they don’t even make it to the final level, but Brittany’s stomach flips over when she sees their names, even if it’s just some dumb nicknames their friends put in, flash together on the screen. 

Santana shoots another glare at Tina when _Snix_ shows up, but she glances at Brittany with a curious smile. “Britt-Britt?”

Brittany laughs and nods. “Yeah, it’s what my sister used to call me when she was really young and it kinda stuck,” she explains, “Mercedes overheard her use it once and now she uses it too.”

Santana casts that bright, dimples-deep grin at Brittany and her stomach flips over again. “That’s cute,” she says, and then they’re being pulled away to the next game by their friends.

They work their way through the games, heading back to the front to add credit to their cards and redeem a couple prizes, before everyone finally spots the _Dance Dance Revolution_ machine and, just as Brittany predicted, they spend the next hour or so there, working through every possible combination. Santana whines that Brittany and Mike and Tina and Sam all have an unfair advantage, but Mike and Tina both roll their eyes and brush her off, and Brittany soon finds out why, because Santana can definitely hold her own. Even Mercedes, despite having told Brittany for years that she _doesn’t do that dance stuff_ , is nimble and precise and gives Tina a run for her money. Santana laughs and tells Mercedes that it’s no wonder she’s so good at the game since she is _a Park and Bark after all_ , and though Brittany doesn’t really know what Santana means by that, she laughs along with everyone because Mercedes looks affronted for all of three seconds before she’s bursting into bright, stomach clutching laughter. 

It’s not until Sam gloats Tina into a battle, Mercedes and Mike distracted and attempting the worst and most amusing trash talk that Brittany’s ever heard, that she has a moment to think. She glances down at Santana, who’s grinning and laughing, and she realizes that this is her chance to ask Santana about what she said earlier, about her family. She leans closer to Santana and nudges her with her elbow. “Can I ask you a question?” she whispers.

Santana glances up at her, her face glowing blue in the arcade lights and her dimpled smile still wide as she nods. “Course you can, Britt-Britt,” she teases. 

Brittany glances around them before spotting a secluded corner. She points in its direction and Santana’s face clears, her smile fading a little, as she realizes that Brittany’s grown serious. She nods a little, and lets Brittany draw her away by her wrist, the others too caught up in the game to notice their absence. It’s a little quieter, and the music doesn’t pound as loudly, but Santana still has to step into Brittany’s space so they can talk without yelling. Santana stares at Brittany expectantly, but the words catch in Brittany’s throat for a long moment as she tries to sort out her thoughts.

“Brittany?” Santana murmurs, “You can ask me anything.”

Brittany blinks, catching brown eyes with her own and sighs a little bit. “I— You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, like, at _all_. I’ll completely understand and I won’t bring it up ever again, I promise,” Brittany trails off, only now realizing that her fingers are still wrapped around Santana’s wrist when she feels the steady thrum of Santana’s heartbeat pulse a little quicker against her fingertips.

“Britt, you’re making me a little nervous,” Santana says slowly.

“I—” Brittany pauses and swallows. “That first day you brought me lunch you said that everything at the theatre with Finn and the snow corps leader was nothing you hadn’t dealt with before?”

Santana nods slowly. 

“And then earlier, when I was asking about Christmas presents?” Santana nods, her brow furrowed in confusion and, standing this close to her, Brittany desperately fights the urge to kiss it away. “You said that your family didn’t take it very well when they found out you were gay?”

“Yeah?”

Brittany takes a deep breath and steels herself. “Not came out. Found out.”

Santana’s face clears and she glances away, biting down on her lip as she nods. “Um, yeah. I was outed my sophomore year of high school,” she explains, and Brittany feels the sharp sting of anger punch low in her stomach. “I grew up in a pretty small, conservative town, and I wasn’t the nicest person in high school and I guess I made enemies with the wrong people, because when they found out that I liked girls the way they thought I should have liked guys, they outed me in front of most of the school. I knew that I didn’t have much time before it got back to my family, so I decided to tell them myself.”

When Santana’s silence stretches on longer than a couple rotations of the theme song playing on the machine closest to them, Brittany gently squeezes her fingers still wrapped around around Santana’s wrist, and Santana starts at the feeling, her eyes drawing back to Brittany’s from wherever in the past they just were. “A couple people took it well, most people didn’t,” Santana shrugs nonchalantly, though Brittany can tell she’s anything but, “I had a cousin about my age who was really cool about it, but his parents weren’t. And before I could control it, the entire thing had snowballed out of control. I’m sure my entire family and half the town knew before I managed to even _see_ my mom that day, let alone tell her.”

Santana shrugs a little again, and this time her smile turns nostalgic and fond and genuine. “My parents split when I was pretty young and I think I’ve only seen my dad, like, twice since then, so my mom raised me and honestly I am so much happier that it was just us two. And so when she came home that night and I told her, ‘cause somehow she hadn’t heard, she was amazing about it. She knew I was gay long before I did and was just waiting on me to come out. She was way more upset and angry by how everything had been taken out of my control. I had one really cool auntie too, my mom’s favourite sister, who’d also known I was gay long before I did.” Santana laughs a little and shrugs, and Brittany can’t help the smile that tugs at her lips in response. She really likes how Santana says _auntie_ with a little bit of a drawl, as if she’s saying _haunt_ without the _h._ “I mean, my life and my mom’s life got pretty bad for a while there, between the harassment at school for me and at work for her, but there was only a couple weeks left of the school year, and as soon as I was free my mom packed up our lives and emptied her savings and moved us to New York so that I would have a better life far away from everyone in our small town. My mom tried to get my family to come around, but once my abuela officially disowned me the following Christmas she never forgave them and never let them hurt me again, even once some of them started to come around years later.”

“Your mom sounds amazing,” Brittany murmurs, her own heart swelling at the obvious admiration and open love in Santana’s voice as she talks about her mom.

Brittany thinks it must be a trick of the flashing arcade lights, because Santana’s eyes seem to glisten wetly in the flickers of blue and red and green as she nods. “Yeah,” she says thickly. 

“So then,” Brittany says slowly, “you sound really close to your mom. Why aren’t you looking for a gift for her?”

“Oh,” Santana shrugs and her eyes drop away, her voice dropping to a whisper that forces Brittany to lean even closer, “I already have something for her, actually.”

“Oh that’s cool,” Brittany says, even though she can tell that Santana’s not telling her the whole truth based on the way she tugs on the hem of her shirt because she can’t play nervously with her hands, as she is wont to do, since as her other hand is still caught in Brittany’s. She’s about to say more when Sam’s voice draws their attention away. His expression is genuinely innocent as he asks what they’re doing squeezed into the corner, Mercedes’ and Tina’s and Mike’s suggestive looks are anything but; he declares that it’s time for Mike to finally take on Brittany in the _Dance Dance Revolution_ battle of the century, and Santana laughs and quickly drags Brittany over.

Mike pouts when Santana tells him haughtily that she’s cheering for Brittany, and Brittany’s stomach flips over as the music starts, casting Santana a quick grin that has her ducking her head breathlessly before she gathers herself and starts to cheer Brittany on.

Mike and Brittany attract a small crowd as kids and teenagers and adults alike look on and cheer as their combos start to hit triple digits; Brittany only really hears one voice cheering for her though.

* * *

They end up just eating at the restaurant attached to the arcade once it starts to get busier in the arcade itself; the restaurant is busy too but not completely packed, and none of them have anywhere else to be so they don’t mind the wait. Brittany really doesn’t want the day to end, especially as Santana beats Tina to sitting and squeezes into the booth beside Brittany, their sides pressed together again, Santana shooting Tina a small smile that’s somehow both smug and apologetic for forcing Tina and Mike to sit across from each other instead of beside each other.

Brittany’s not the only one who doesn’t want the day to end, because before she knows it Tina and her are huddled over Santana’s phone, looking up movies playing at a nearby theatre while Mike, Sam, and Mercedes do the same on the other side of the table.

Their food arrives just as they decide on a movie, and everyone quickly digs in; they had only grabbed a quick bite at the food court earlier, and with all the games, especially _Dance Dance Revolution_ , their stomaches were all growling by the time they entered the restaurant and caught the scent of food. Sam asks about Christmas traditions as they slow in their eating, and they quickly go around the table with nostalgic smiles. 

Sam starts, explaining that since his little brother and sister are so much younger than he is that he’s spent most of his life believing in Santa for his siblings’ sake, writing letters with them and setting out cookies and carrots and staying up with them while they waited for Santa, even if they always fell asleep before it was eleven. Brittany nods and before she can stop it she’s chiming in that she believed in Santa until she was like fourteen for her sister’s sake too. She bites down on her lip as embarrassment flushes hotly through her, but unlike all her friends in high school, no one makes fun of her; Tina tells her that it’s cute, and Santana’s fingers brush hers under the table, hooking her pinky over Brittany’s with a small smile, and the conversation devolves into how long everyone believed in Santa. Mercedes’ older cousin told her that Santa wasn’t real when she was nine; Mike’s family never really celebrated Christmas, both because his parents immigrated from small towns in China and because his father has always been really distant to both his wife and his son; Santana learned that Santa wasn’t real when she was six after her parents split a couple weeks before Christmas; Tina’s parents told her that they were actually Santa once she turned ten. 

They turn back to Christmas traditions shortly after. Despite not really celebrating Christmas, Mike’s mom always took him out for a nice supper the day before Christmas Eve, just the two of them, and then took him ice skating afterwards, before warming up with some hot chocolate and giving him a couple gifts. Since Santana’s mom was a nurse and often worked the holidays, Santana would always watch _Home Alone_ when she was home alone, and she would always go to midnight mass with her abuela and mess of extended family before spending Christmas Day with them, but when her mom wasn’t working they would always make homemade cinnamon buns in the morning, just the two of them; Brittany notices that Santana grows small as she explains this and Tina catches Santana’s other hand and squeezes it comfortingly, and Brittany wonders if it’s because of what Santana told her about her family earlier. Mercedes interrupts her thoughts when she starts talking about staying up too late with her older brother and cousins, playing card games with their family, all of the cousins having been taught with no mercy by their grandma, messily passing around nuts and little cakes and getting overexcited whenever the games tipped in their favour. Brittany explains that her and her sister always watched _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ , the live action 2000 one with Jim Carrey, and she always had to hold her sister’s hand when she was really little because she always got scared, and how they would always go out an have a snowman making contest with their cousins on Christmas Day, after supper when the sun was just starting to set and turn the world orange. Tina’s parents adopted her a little bit before Christmas, and she says it’s always been extra special for her family because of that, and she would always get to spend Christmas at her grandparents house with her aunt and uncle and two cousins, allowed to open one present each on Christmas Eve and baking cookies for Santa that day.

Before they know it, all their plates are being taken by the waiter and they’re rushing to pay their bills so they aren’t late for the movie; Brittany pays Santana’s bill when she’s not paying attention, too busy playfully arguing with Mike, and she refuses to take the money Santana tries to shove at her. Brittany does finally accept Santana’s mint as payment, even if she slips it back into Santana’s pocket with a wink at Tina, who just beams at them while Mike pays their own bill. Mercedes takes the machine last, and then they’re all sliding out of the booth and distributing jackets from the coatrack on the booth wall before rushing out the door and down the sidewalk into the cool night air.

* * *

When they get to the movie theatre, they find that they actually still have plenty of time given that they’re seeing a movie that came out a couple weeks ago and it’s a Monday, so the theatre really isn’t that busy at all. Santana manages to squeeze her way in front of Brittany to pay for their tickets, playfully shoving Brittany away when she tries to protest.

Brittany and Santana offer to go save them all seats while the others sort out snacks, collecting everyone’s jackets until they’re weighed down by them and struggling to hand their tickets to the bored worker, who directs them to Theatre Three.

They pick the first row after the large walkway, right behind the designated places for people in wheelchairs, and Brittany claims the farthest left seat that they’ve thrown jackets on, one in front of the short railings so she’ll be able to prop her feet up on them and stretch her legs out. The theatre is deserted aside from a small family with excited teenagers and a couple of college aged students tucked into the farthest back corner of the theatre, and as Santana falls into the seat beside Brittany, Mike’s jacket on her other side, she nods in their direction and makes kissy faces at Brittany until Brittany’s gasping for breath around her laughter.

Brittany’s laughter fades as she realizes that Santana is staring at her, and she feels heat flame in her cheeks at the soft look on Santana’s face. “What?” she whispers.

Santana shrugs a little, her eyes dropping away from Brittany’s face. “You’re cute, is all,” she mumbles.

Brittany’s breath catches and she smiles as she nudges Santana gently. “So are you.”

Santana’s cheeks dimple and she finally lifts her head to catch Brittany’s eyes again. “I, um, have something for you.”

“Really?” Brittany excitedly sits up further in her seat so she’s not slouched anymore.

Santana nods and fumbles with her jacket, draped over the back of her chair, for a moment until she finds the pocket. “I just,” she says, pulling her fisted hand out of the pocket, “you seemed to really like it and I thought it would be a good, I dunno, memento, I guess.” 

Brittany glances down at Santana’s hand as her fingers uncurl and reveal the small cat charm that reminds her so much of Tubbs. Something deep in Brittany’s chest spasms and eases itself as tears spring unbidden to her eyes; she reaches out, slowly and haltingly taking the charm. She gasps as her fingers close around it, realizing she hasn’t actually taken a breath since Santana presented the charm. She looks up at Santana with a soft smile tugging at her lips even as tears threaten to spill down her cheeks, not quite able to believe that someone like Santana could even exist, and that she was even lucky enough to meet her. “Thank you,” she rasps.

Santana gives Brittany a slightly lopsided smile. “I thought you could use it on your keys or something,” she mumbles, “That way he’d always be with you.”

Brittany curls her fingers around the charm and throws her arms around Santana, barely noticing the arm rest digging into her stomach as she pulls Santana into the cradle of her body. Santana sighs and melts into Brittany’s embrace, nuzzling her nose against Brittany’s neck. “Thank you,” Brittany repeats.

Santana just sighs against her again. “You’re welcome.”

They remain locked in the other’s warm embrace until they can hear their noisy friends opening the door to the theatre and heading down the short hallway that opens into the rest of Theatre Three, and they reluctantly pull away from each other. Brittany clutches the charm before she smiles and digs her keys out of her jacket pocket, quickly hooking the string into place so the charm rests against the key to her apartment. Santana gives Brittany a wide smile even as she distractedly takes the drinks and popcorn and napkins from Mike as he passes them to her. They bought a couple bottled waters, a small bag of candy, and a medium popcorn for Santana and Brittany to share, and as Brittany tries to offer money for the snacks Mike waves her off, telling her that Santana had already given him money for it as he finally sits down on the other side of Santana.

“Sneaky,” Brittany mutters in Santana’s ear as the lights start to dim.

Santana gets that breathless, bright look even as she smirks at Brittany. “You know it,” she whispers.

Santana and Brittany make it about halfway through their popcorn as the previews end and the actual movie starts, and by that point they’re both too full, so Santana neatly rolls the top of the bag and tucks it under her seat before settling back into her seat. Between the long day and the even longer week and the darkened theatre and the plush seats, it doesn’t take long before Brittany’s eyes are drooping and she’s snapping herself awake every couple scenes. She’s drifting off for about the sixth time when she feels something land on her shoulder and she snaps her eyes open again. 

She shifts a little as hair starts tickling her chin, and it takes her a couple moments to realize that Santana’s head has fallen to her shoulder, her breathing deep and even as she sleeps. Brittany glances down the row of their friends to find everyone’s attention captivated by the screen, and Brittany turns her head to breathe in Santana’s shampoo before she eases further back into her seat, her feet propped up on the railing, to get more comfortable. Santana shifts and sighs a little, but follows Brittany’s movement, and it feels like Brittany’s eyes are even heavier than before as she drops her head to rest atop of Santana’s, surrounded by a soft scent of citrus and vanilla as she drifts to sleep.

* * *

It’s the clicking of a camera that wakes Brittany what feels like seconds later, and she blinks awake into the bright light of the theatre, the house lights on and the screen playing the ending credits. There’s another click and she blinks as she manages to focus on what’s going on around her; Mercedes stands on the other side of the railings, her phone held in front of her as she aims the camera at Brittany, Tina grinning beside her, Mike and Sam discussing the movie to the side even as they eye Brittany fondly. She’s still a little disorientated, but as she becomes more aware of her surroundings, she’s delighted to realize that the prettiest girl in the world happens to be drooling on _her_ shoulder.

Santana mumbles as she wakes, nuzzling closer to Brittany for a moment until the click of Mercedes’ camera startles her fully awake. She sits up quickly, wiping at her chin and glaring fiercely at Tina and Mercedes, who just grin smugly back up at her. “What’s with the paparazzi routine, Wheezy?” she snaps, and Brittany doesn’t need to feel Santana’s cheek to know it must be blush-hot.

“Trying to gather evidence that Satan herself has a soft side,” Mercedes shoots back with an easy grin.

They continue to bicker, and Brittany just smiles at Santana, delighted to find out that Santana’s even grumpier than Brittany is after waking up; it’s a piece of information she tucks away and desperately hopes will come in handy, eventually.

Santana finally glances at Brittany and softens instantly, the retort on her lips fading mid-sentence. Mercedes and Tina seem to take that as their cue and fade away. “Hi,” Santana says breathlessly.

“Hi,” Brittany giggles. 

Santana glances down before catching Brittany’s eyes again, the brown still sleepy and softer than Brittany’s ever seen them. “Sorry about falling asleep on you,” she mumbles, flustered and bashful.

Brittany just smiles. “Anytime,” she says, ignoring her own blush prickling heat in her cheeks. Brittany tactfully doesn’t mention the drool on her shoulder because she has a feeling that it might make Santana’s blush burst into flames. They gather their jackets and shrug them on, collecting their half-eaten bag of popcorn and drinks before filing out of the aisle, wondering about what they missed on the movie; Brittany thinks there was probably some major plot twist that was overly predictable, Santana thinks that it was probably boring the entire time, which is why they continued to sleep instead of waking to explosions or something.

They catch up with the rest of the group just as Sam and Mike are leaving the bathroom and Mercedes and Tina are discussing Uber arrangements; Mercedes and Brittany are obviously sharing one, and Santana’s close enough to them that it makes sense for her to join them, Mike and Tina share one too, while Sam just grins and says he likes chatting with Uber drivers.

They’re all piling into Ubers what feels like seconds later, which probably has more to do with Brittany’s still half asleep brain than it does with the actual amount of time that has passed; that and the fact that if Brittany turns her head to the right she can catch a whiff of Santana’s citrus and vanilla shampoo lingering on the shoulder of her sweater, and it’s more than a little distracting. Brittany ends up in the backseat with Santana on her right again and Mercedes up in the passenger seat. They direct the Uber to Santana’s apartment first, and Mercedes gives them a quick rundown of everything they missed in the movie. Brittany just sinks back into the seat as Santana gives her opinion on a movie she slept through and Mercedes just laughs at her. She’s pretty sure this entire day has been one of the best days ever, because the entire day has just felt easy and comfortable and everything she never really thought friends could be back in high school, or even college, really, and the girl she kind of really, really likes seems to really, really like her in return, and all of it makes Brittany feel like she could fly.

They’re pulling up in front of Santana’s apartment far too soon, and Santana quickly un-clicks her seatbelt and leans forward to say goodbye to Mercedes and press money into her hands before Brittany can try to protest and pay her fare. She turns to Brittany and the air seems to thicken as brown catches on blue, but with the meter running she doesn’t have time to linger, and they both know it. She smiles at Brittany, her dimples creasing her cheeks and her nose scrunching up just a little bit. “See you tomorrow, Britt,” she murmurs.

Brittany smiles softly in return. “Bye,” she whispers, and Santana lingers for a moment more, before her smile softens and she quickly slips out of the car; they both feel that they’re missing a part of their farewells, but Brittany really doesn’t want to give Santana a goodnight kiss, their first kiss, when her best friend and roommate is engrossed with watching them and a bored Uber driver is watching them in the rearview mirror. Brittany ducks down a little so she can watch Santana walk up the stairs and fumble through her pockets until she finds her keys. Mercedes coughs something in front of her that sounds suspiciously like _smitten_ , but Brittany ignores it even as her cheeks flame. 

As soon as they see Santana make it safely into her apartment complex Brittany turns to Mercedes. “Can you send me those pictures?” she asks.

Mercedes grins and holds up her phone to display her messages app, Brittany’s name at the top of the screen and pictures currently being sent. “Way ahead of you,” she says.

And if Brittany gives what is definitely a completely _smitten_ sigh as she gets the picture—her and Santana curled together and sleeping peacefully with the tiniest of smiles playing on their faces, and makes it her lock screen—well, only Mercedes and the taxi driver are there to witness it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is by FAR the longest chapter so far lmao. Also if I say "dainties" does anyone know what I mean? In Canada people in Manitoba use it but I haven't met any native Albertans who know what they are lmao. Whenever me or my sister say it around our friends here we always get "?????" When I said Mercedes' family ate "little cakes" I had to Remember not to put dainties since like no one knows what they are lmao.


	11. that word has been hushed, it’s almost a joke

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana has to deal with the ever-frustrating sound department again; she also suddenly realizes what the date is today.

As soon as Santana gets to the theatre Tuesday, she’s practically assaulted by some scrawny kid from sound before she can even check in at the call board. She doesn’t bother hiding her groan of displeasure as she turns her glare on the kid; he flinches, and Santana feels a little bad, but not enough to ease up on him. “What does he want this time?” she growls.

“Uh— J- Just— A meeting, today— W- With him,” the kid stutters. He has a poorly fitted hat pulled over his hair, terrified blue eyes, and a barely decipherable accent, especially when he’s stuttering.

“What time?” 

“Uh— Um— Now?” he squeaks.

“Fine,” Santana agrees absently as she casts a glance over the call board, noting which department heads and company members are already in; she’s really only looking for one name though, even if it’s only been about fourteen hours since she last saw her, and they’ve been texting each other almost constantly all morning. She’s, like, pretty sure no matter how much time she spends with Brittany it’s never going to be enough. Especially considering the fact that they spend an entire day just goofing off together and Santana misses her like a near constant ache.

The entirety of yesterday was spent not worried about what emergency she’s going to have to deal with next or half listening to someone ramble on in her ear or worry about being interrupted by someone else in the company, and it was glorious. It’s something she wants to do as soon as possible, but that she knows probably won’t happen for at least another week since their next no show day isn’t until next Monday.

She finally spots Brittany’s name and can’t quite hid her grin as she sees that she’s already checked in; she knows that Brittany’s probably in a rehearsal with Jake, Her Cavalier, and a couple of the dance corps right now, working on a slightly messy transition between scenes with Quinn, but just knowing that Brittany’s in the same building as her again makes it the thought of dealing with Blaine and his noxious hair gel slightly more bearable.

She does one more scan of the call board, checking who she can go find to right away for check ins and who she’ll have to track down later, before finally turning her attention back to the scrawny kid. “Let’s go,” she mutters, and he jolts as if she electrocuted him before scurrying off backstage and in the direction of the sound booth, Santana inwardly grumbling the entire way. The kid opens the door for her, letting her enter the lion’s den first before shuffling into the tiny room after her. 

The sickeningly sweet scent of Blaine’s hair gel clogs her senses almost instantly, and she feels the urge to take some allergy medicine even though she doesn’t have allergies beyond a slightly runny nose in the spring. Blaine is sitting at the sound board in a chair that looks far too comfortable and expensive to have come out of the show’s budget, which is further confirmed by the cheap office chair shoved in the corner, dusty and seldom used by the looks of it. Blaine seems to have entire pages of notes prepared for this meeting, and Santana is still wearing her winter jacket and scarf because she hasn’t been to the stage manager’s office yet; this is going to be a long meeting, she can already tell.

“Santana,” Blaine greets with a fake smile.

“Blaine,” she says blankly.

“Would you like to have a seat?”

Santana just shrugs him off. “I actually don’t have a whole lot of time,” she explains, even if that’s not entirely the truth.

“Well, we better get started then, because I have a lot of issues to bring up with you,” Blaine says, overly seriously.

Santana curses under her breath. The kid pushes the old chair over and offers it to her and she has a sparing thought for the poor soul that has to be around Blaine all day, so she mutters her thanks to him and takes her sweet time taking off her jacket before sitting down. The first page of Blaine’s notes are single spaced with tiny writing and Santana stares blankly at it for a long moment, wondering what the fastest way to get out of this hell would be.

* * *

By the time she storms out of the sound booth, she’s pretty sure she might actually murder someone. All of Blaine’s ‘problems’ are either things that Santana’s changed since taking over and that haven’t been a problem until right fucking now apparently, things that have stupidly easy fixes and she’s not sure why he even felt the need to consult her about, or things that aren’t actually problems at all. She’s pretty sure he’s arguing with her just for arguments sake, and if she doesn’t get away from his stupid bowtie and the scent of his noxious hair gel she might actually snap.

She storms off in some direction, not caring where she ends up, clutching her jacket in her arms, just needing to get away from the sound booth. She’s so distracted that she doesn’t even realize anyone else is around until she’s literally bouncing off their chest, warm palms smoothing over her biceps as they reach out to steady her.

She catches the scent of coconut and jasmine and the sharp salt of sweat, instantly clearing her senses of the clinging smell of hair gel, before she catches sight of blue eyes and a soft smile, and just like that every single frustrated and angry thought racing through her mind sweetens up like honey.

“Britt!” she gasps, a smile that she couldn’t fight even if she wanted to instantly spreading.

Brittany grins and glances over Santana’s shoulder, looking to where she just came from. “Need some eggnog?” she teases with a soft smile tugging at her lips and turning her sparkling eyes catlike.

Santana has no clue what it is about this woman, but she has a way of making it impossible for Santana to feel annoyed or frustrated in her presence. “Dealing with You-Know-Who,” she explains.

Brittany’s nose wrinkles and it takes every single bit of self-control Santana possesses not to just bounce up on her toes and kiss it. “I’m pretty sure we’d all much rather deal with Voldemort,” she says wisely, causing Santana to burst into laughter in agreement. Brittany brightens and her grin tugs wider at Santana’s giggles, and her smile makes something warm and bright pool in Santana’s stomach. It doesn’t escape her attention that Brittany’s hands have now started trailing soothingly over her biceps; in fact, it’s just about all that she can actually focus on. “What’s their problem today?”

Santana groans and rolls her eyes. “The real question is what _isn’t_ their problem,” she complains. “If it’s not this it’s that, and if it’s not that it’s this, and yada yada yada.”

Brittany smiles a little. “They’re the worst,” she agrees.

“I’d welcome their suggestions, more or less, if they weren’t such tiny little nitpicks,” Santana explains, “But, like, I _know_ he’s just doing it because he doesn’t like the way I run the show because all of his problems are just the dumbest things. He complained about those changes I made my second day and claimed that the flow backstage should be changed back to how it was because there’s too much audio feedback or some shit. But why he’s waited _nine_ shows to tell me this is beyond me, so he’s either real forgetful or he just wants to complain.”

Brittany quirks an eyebrow as she listens to Santana rant, absently continuing to smooth her hands over Santana’s bare arm and making it kind of impossible for Santana to get any more worked up about her complaints when those warm, clever fingers are drawing patterns across her bare skin. Brittany’s eyes catch on something over Santana’s shoulder, and Santana trails off to follow Santana’s gaze, spotting Blaine and that scrawny kid exiting the sound booth.

Something in Brittany’s grin turns wicked and mischievous, making Santana just about melt at how adorable and attractive Brittany is about literally everything, as she releases Santana’s arms before marching over to them. Santana remains rooted in place, only able to watch in awe as Brittany says something to them with that quiet fierceness of hers, occasionally dropping into that confused act she dons when she wants to be particularly sneaky. Santana smirks as she watches Blaine shrink under Brittany’s quiet wrath, the kid staring between the two with eyes so wide Santana is a little worried that they’re about to bulge out of their sockets, until Blaine seems sufficiently cowed. 

Blaine and the kid eventually scurry off and Brittany turns back to Santana with a smile that’s mostly smug, with just the hint of nervousness as she returns to Santana.

“How did you do that?” Santana breathes, “You just— You were— And they—”

Brittany shrugs a little sheepishly and stops in front of Santana perhaps a little closer than strictly platonic, the toes of their shoes almost tapping together. “I, uh, may have implied that because I’m a principal I could have Blaine fired back when he were being super annoying to me at the beginning of rehearsals,” she admits, her cheeks splotched in that adorable pink blush of hers.

Santana’s mouth falls open in shock before she starts grinning widely. “You’re an evil genius, Britt,” she sighs.

Brittany jolts a little as if an electric current just went through her. “It’s not like I can actually do that,” she mumbles, “Or that I ever would.”

“They don’t need to know that,” Santana grins.

Brittany shrugs a little and kicks one leg back behind the other. “Anyways,” she coughs a little, her cheeks still splotched with her blush, “I was planning to head out to go pick up something for supper around four thirty-ish. Wanna come with?”

Santana smiles instantly, wanting to reach out and take Brittany’s hand despite the fact that her own are currently tangled up in her coat. “I’d love to,” she says.

Brittany bobs her head once, and then again, a wide grin spreading across her face that she tries to hide by biting at her bottom lip. “Cool,” she says, pointing over her shoulder with her thumb, “I gotta head back to rehearsals since break is probably almost over. I’ll meet you at the front entrance?”

Santana grins and nods. “Yeah, definitely.”

Brittany’s grin widens, her cheeks still flushed pink. “Cool,” she repeats. “See you in like,” she reaches out to gently tug Santana’s right arm out from underneath her jacket, twisting her wrist until she can read Santana’s watch, her fingertips brushing Santana’s pulse point and sending it haywire, “three and a half hours?”

Santana just nods dumbly, and Brittany spins around in a carelessly graceful flail of limbs, shooting one more smile at Santana before she’s already out of sight.

Santana grins as she heads to the stage manager’s office.

Accepting this job was one-hundred percent the best decision of her life.

* * *

Brittany had to run off before the show to talk to Kurt about something with her costume, so Santana ends up lounging in Tina’s dressing room for the last fifteen minutes of break, nursing a coffee from her and Brittany’s supper run earlier.

Tina’s sprawled on the floor stretching out her limbs after her own rehearsal with Zizes earlier, groaning as her back cracks all the way up her spine. Santana winces from where she’s slouched on the couch, her feet up on the coffee table. “Ouch?”

Tina just grunts in response and twists the other way until her back cracks again. “Yes and no,” she mumbles.

“Do you want—” Santana starts but Tina quickly shakes her head. 

“I think that might actually hurt more this time,” she answers. Santana just shrugs and sips her coffee. She’s more than used to helping Tina stretch out over the years, and, aside from that one time when Tina’s parents walked in on them in what would have been a compromising position if her parents weren’t so used to their daughter needing help with weird stretches, there’s never been any awkwardness between them.

It had actually been refreshing when Santana first came out to Tina, to have her just grin and say _I knew it_ and never treat her any different, especially after so many of Santana’s friends prior to that had gotten _weird_ around her after coming out. Tina just acted as if she had been told that Santana didn’t like raisins, like it was just another thing she knew about her friend, like a favourite colour or a childhood story. Tina had never treated her any differently, except to get a little more protective of her, which was hilarious to Santana at first, seeing as Tina is even tinier than she is; or it was hilarious until Santana actually saw Tina step up and kick some drunk douche in the groin, dropping him instantly, when it became clear that he didn’t understand what _I’m a lesbian_ meant, and then it was both hilarious and insanely impressive and sweet.

Tina flops on the couch beside her and startles Santana out of her thoughts, reaching for her water bottle on the table and taking a long gulp before turning to Santana with a grin. “So,” she drawls, “Brittany.”

Santana feels heat instantly rise to her cheeks and she bites down on her smile.

Tina pokes her in the shoulder, her smile teasing and delighted. “I’ve never seen you like this,” she says, and Santana shrugs a little. “You’re practically giddy right now, and you were so carefree and happy yesterday.”

“Yeah, well,” Santana flusters. She knows Tina’s right, normally she would be shutting Tina down for prying into her romantic life, but she has never felt like this, light and happy and giddy, and instead of hiding her feelings she kind of wants to shout them from the rooftops. 

Tina sits back a little, regarding Santana with soft, fond eyes. “It’s a good look on you,” she decides. 

Santana shrugs a little and takes a sip of her coffee, trying to reign in her grin. “I dunno,” she mumbles, “I just— Brittany’s just— She just makes me feel, like, bright or whatever. Like when she’s around I just feel light and happy and at ease and—” As soon as the words are out of her mouth Santana groans and falls back on the couch, scrubbing her a hand over her burning cheeks. “ _God_ , I’m such a sap,” she complains in a whine.

Tina grins and pokes Santana in the shoulder. “You’ve always been a sap,” she retorts, “This is just the first time you’re embracing it.”

“I’m hopeless, aren’t I?” Santana mumbles into her hands.

Tina snorts. “Oh, one hundred percent.”

“I just— I like being around her, a lot. And—” she hesitates for a long moment before peaking out and Tina, lowering her hand just enough to see Tina but not enough to reveal the wide smile on her face; it doesn’t really matter though, because Tina can see the smile in her eyes. “And I like who I am around her,” Santana finally whispers.

Tina studies Santana carefully, considering her so Santana knows that she’s not just saying something to make her feel better. “You’re finally letting yourself be happy again,” she says and her grin softens as she shakes her head a little, “I haven’t seen you like this in years. But I’m glad, because you deserve to be happy.”

Santana jolts a little at the words and stares blankly at Tina, her mind working overtime as she thinks back to their conversation last week, to the fact that it’s December, to the fact that it’s been four years since she’s felt this carefree and happy. She scrambles up from the couch, ignoring Tina’s questioning protests, and drops her coffee on the table. It doesn’t spill, but Santana wouldn’t have cared if it had, she probably wouldn’t have even noticed. She scans Tina’s walls until her eyes finally land on the calendar hanging innocently beside the bathroom. “Fuck,” she mutters, blinking back the sudden wetness to her eyes as she leaps to her feet and crosses the room, “fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“What’s up with you?” Tina asks incredulously from the couch. 

Santana doesn’t answer, just storms to the calendar on Tina’s wall and rips it off, paying little heed to Tina’s protests as she studies the week, counting and recounting until she’s absolutely positive of the date. She’s been so distracted with the show and Brittany and their friends lately that she’s barely paid attention to the date aside from knowing what time the show’s at on any given day of the week.

“Santana,” Tina snaps, and Santana looks up at her with a slightly wild look, not quite altogether there. Tina softens just a little bit at the look of pure, animal fear and pain flashing on Santana’s features, her annoyance fading quickly into worry. “What is it?”

“It’s the eleventh today,” Santana croaks.

Tina shakes her head a little as she shrugs. “And?”

Santana’s mouth twists into a scowl as she shakes Tina’s calendar at her. “It’s the _eleventh_ today,” she growls, her teeth flashing as they gnash together so hard Tina can hear it across the dressing room, and she winces a little at the sound. “The _eleventh_ of fucking December, Tina,” she repeats, “It’s the fourteenth in _three_ days.”

It finally dawns on Tina and she sucks in a sharp breath. “Oh,” she breathes shakily.

“Yeah,” Santana sneers, “ _oh_.”

“Santana,” Tina sighs, her own heart clenching as Santana turns on her, her dark eyes blown wide and too bright as she grows near animal with her anger. 

“ _Don’t_ Santana me,” she growls.

Tina had been expecting this blowup, it’s happened every year for four years after all, but honestly Santana had been so much happier lately, more settled, that Tina had kind of hoped they would bypass the jump to anger it this year. Especially after yesterday, she had been hoping that between Brittany, the show, and their friends, that Santana would be distracted enough that her pain wouldn’t turn to anger this year. She should have known better, Santana had always leaned more towards rage in response to things that hurt her. It must be easier, Tina muses as she watches Santana start to stalk the length of her dressing room, to be angry than to be sad. At least if Santana’s angry than she looks stronger, she looks like she’s doing something about her pain instead of letting the sadness control her; anger is satisfying, sadness just hurts.

“Can’t you take the day off?” Tina asks quietly, her bottom lip pouted out just a little bit as she watches Santana pace back and forth with a near violence, something in her chest aching at her best friend’s pain. “I’m sure Holly would understand if you told her you needed a personal day, and Quinn would cover for you.”

“I don’t want special treatment,” Santana snarls, rounding on Tina, her features twisted with pure anger and her hands clenched by her sides, her whole body wound so tight that it looks near painful. Tina’s known her long enough to just watch her quietly, waiting for the anger to fade and the pain to surface; Santana’s always covered her pain with anger, for as long as Tina’s known her, even before their last year of college when everything was painful and hard. Santana’s hands relax and she glances away, biting down harshly on her lip. “Sorry,” she mutters roughly, her voice tight and hoarse, “I just— I don’t want the day off. I don’t think I could handle being alone.”

Tina sighs and stands, setting her own coffee on the table beside Santana’s, before she slowly approaches her best friend, careful and wary. She knows Santana won’t physically lash out at her, but she’s been on the receiving end of her fair share of verbal attacks, especially that first year; it always ended with her finding Santana curled up in some stairwell at their dorms, sobbing into her knees and muttering broken apologies to Tina as she wrapped her arms around the aching girl.

Santana lets her approach, and that’s when Tina knows she needs a hug, so she just pulls her best friend into her embrace. Santana breathes out shakily into Tina’s shoulder, standing stiffly in Tina’s arms, but Tina knows that’s more to do with her trying to hold herself together than it is from not wanting a hug. “I almost forgot about her,” she whispers, and she sounds so guilty and scared that Tina’s heart absolutely _aches_ for her friend, “How could I do that? How could I forget about her?”

Tina shakes her head and slowly rocks them back and forth until Santana’s hands are fisted in her the back of her hoodie and clutching desperately at her. “You didn’t forget about her,” Tina whispers, “Just because you’re happy this time of year doesn’t mean that you’ve forgotten her. It just means that you’re healing.”

“But—” Santana protests, trembling like she’s spent hours out in the cold without a jacket; Tina just holds her tighter. “But how can I be happy when she’s not here?”

Tina sighs and nuzzles into Santana. “Just because you aren’t sad all the time doesn’t mean you don’t miss her or that you’ve forgotten her, just like her being gone doesn’t mean you can’t be happy.”

Santana sniffles but it doesn’t turn to tears, she just hugs Tina tighter. Tina sighs and rests her chin on Santana’s shoulder, watching their reflection in the mirror. It’s always amazed her how brave Santana’s been despite what life’s thrown at her; and it’s always made her feel so cherished to know that Santana turns to her when it gets too hard to go on by herself.

“I think she would have liked Brittany,” Santana finally whispers.

Tina’s heart clenches and she smiles up at the ceiling. “Brittany makes you happy,” Tina says simply, “She would have loved her.”

* * *

Santana goes on and gives notes after the show, because its her job and she has to do it no matter what’s going on in her life, but she saves Brittany for last, because she needs time to cool off before she gets there. She always feels drained after she lets her emotions get the best of her, and she always compensates by making herself appear bigger even if she’s never felt smaller. Tina being there helped, it always has and probably always will, and she doesn’t feel quite as unmoored as she usually would. But she knows she’s still irritable; she could tell that Mike noticed, and she could tell he already knew what it was about because he just sighed and sat a little bit closer than usual while Santana mechanically gave him notes before letting her go without saying much of anything.

She’s grateful her best friends know her as well as they do, because sometimes she just needs to be left alone to process her emotions.

So she braces herself as she knocks gently on Brittany’s door, half hoping that she’s already gone home, but Brittany’s soft _Come in!_ sounds just like always, and she takes another deep breath before pushing into Brittany’s room.

Brittany’s slouched on the couch on her phone, her thumbs moving rapid fire over the screen as she quickly glances up. “Santana!” she greets brightly, missing Santana’s forced smile as she glances back down at her phone, “Sorry, just let me finish texting Mercedes. She’s dropping Sam off and then swinging back here to pick me up.”

“No problem,” Santana says quietly, hesitating in the doorway. It feels weird to sit beside Brittany and pretend that the fourteenth isn’t three days away, but it would be even weirder to stand in the doorway and give Brittany notes, so she forces herself over to the couch. She sits beside Brittany, a little farther away than usual, and Brittany seems to notice right away as she glances at Santana out of the corner of her eye. She quickly finishes on her phone before tossing it carelessly on the coffee table and turning her full attention to Santana, tucking her legs up and under her until she’s sitting cross-legged and facing Santana. 

Santana feels weird about being perpendicular to Brittany, so she reluctantly pulls her legs up too, mindful of her sneakers on the fabric, and awkwardly twists a little to face Brittany. Her eyes catch on Santana’s, and there’s something in them that makes Santana squirm a little bit. “Are you feeling okay?” she asks softly, “You look a little sick.”

“Yeah,” Santana lies mechanically, dropping her gaze from Brittany’s, “I’m fine.”

Brittany reaches out, almost involuntarily, and brushes a strand of dark hair back behind Santana’s ear, her thumb brushing gently over Santana’s cheek as it passes and causing Santana’s eyes to snap back to hers. “Are you sure?” she whispers, chewing on her lip.

Santana’s breath catches even as something clenches uneasily in her stomach. She doesn’t want to lash out at Brittany like she lashed out at Tina earlier; in fact, that’s the _last_ thing she wants to do. She still feels bad about lashing out at Tina, but she also knows that Tina knows how to deal with that and she doesn’t take it personally anymore, because she knows that sometimes that’s how Santana deals with emotions; it might be unhealthy, but it’s how she’s coped since that last year of college, and Tina knows that. But Brittany is getting uncomfortably close to Santana’s breaking point, so she quickly nods her head and Brittany’s eyes drop from her face for a moment and she feels like she can actually think properly again. “It’s nothing,” she repeats, “Just the stress of the show or whatever.”

Brittany looks like she doesn’t really believe her, but she nods and whispers and _Okay_ that says about a thousand things more than one syllable should be able to, and for a split second Santana wars with just blurting everything out to Brittany. The urge passes as Brittany’s hand falls from her face, and Santana feels the sting of loss arc through her chest even if she’s the one pushing Brittany away right now. It’s not that she _wants_ to, it’s just that she _has_ to, until the fourteenth at least, in order to protect Brittany from Santana herself.

Instead she busies herself with notes for Brittany, trying her best to act as she normally would despite the fact that it feels anything but normal. Brittany doesn’t push her, but Santana catches her worried looks out of the corner of her eye when she’s flipping through her notebook; despite how calming it feels to just be breathing the same air as Brittany, she escapes almost as soon as she can, grateful for Mercedes’ _I’m here_ text that releases Santana from Brittany’s continuing concern.

Brittany’s quiet and worried farewell echoes through Santana’s mind as she heads through the oppressively quiet theatre, everyone long gone or hidden in some corner far away from Santana’s path to the stage manager’s office.

She knows Brittany’s patient, she just desperately hopes that she’ll patient with her.


	12. now december is just another sad month

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany’s mostly just confused when Santana lashes out; Santana finally opens up to Brittany.

It doesn’t take long into Wednesday before Brittany’s quiet concern for Santana blooms into flat out all-consuming worry. 

There’s something different in Santana today, something she only glimpsed last night, something that left her tossing and turning until stupid-early this morning. She’s quieter than usual around Brittany, only giving one word answers or hums of acknowledgement when they ran into each other at the call board earlier, and she’s been snapping at the company and crew all day, seemingly without any real reason, but the most telling thing is that her smiles don’t quite reach her eyes anymore. It worries Brittany more than a little bit, and it’s about all that’s on her mind since Santana knocked on her door last night, but she doesn’t want to be pushy, because she can tell whatever it is that’s going on is deeply entrenched in Santana’s being.

Rehearsals are brutal that afternoon, and Brittany’s glad that she doesn’t have to run any scenes because, when she pops her head in the rehearsal room, everyone is frustrated and hungry, none more so than Santana herself. Mike and Tina aren’t running scenes either, but they’re sitting against the mirrors just behind Santana, watching her protectively even if Santana doesn’t seem to realize it. Nobody notices her in the doorway, so Brittany hovers and watches for a while. Santana’s behaviour already had her beyond worried, and the identical looks of sad worry and pain in both Mike and Tina’s eyes just confirm her fears.

“She’s been like that since we got here this morning,” a voice suddenly says from behind her.

Brittany jumps a little and glances over her shoulder. Quinn stands there with a wry grin, her headset around her neck and a notebook in her hands. “Huh?” Brittany manages.

“She must have got up on the wrong side of the bed considering how bitchy she is today,” Quinn elaborates.

“Yeah, maybe,” Brittany says absently.

“I wouldn’t fret about it, she’s usually just a hair less bitchier than this,” Quinn says in a voice that’s probably meant to be reassuring, but that just sets Brittany’s teeth on edge. 

Brittany has a sneaking suspicion that there are very few people who take the time to understand Santana, and while it makes her a little bit sad and annoyed that people don’t seem to think that Santana’s worth it, it also makes her just that much more determined to not be the next person to give up on her.

Quinn offers to have supper with her, but Brittany politely declines and heads back to her dressing room. She’s hoping that Santana will stop by, and she really doesn’t want to miss her. She waits for a long time, chewing on a granola bar and playing sudoku on her phone. As the time ticks by she eventually stands and heads to her vanity to put her makeup while she waits, hoping to take her mind off of worrying about Santana. It’s almost time for half hour when Santana finally shows up to her dressing room for notes, something dark and almost hungry in her eyes.

Brittany’s stomach twists uneasily and she scans Santana’s face where she hovers just inside the doorway; there’s darker bags under her eyes then yesterday and her ponytail swings listlessly behind her.

“Hey,” Brittany greets quietly.

Santana smiles at her, and it dimples her cheeks a little but it doesn’t scrunch her nose, and Brittany’s stomach clenches in worry again. “Hey,” Santana says. She leaves the door wide open, which is something she usually never does.

“You’re doing notes?” Brittany prompts when Santana just continues to hover a couple steps in the dressing room.

“Yeah.”

“Do you wanna sit or something?”

“No.”

Brittany frowns a little at her one word answers, and at the way Santana holds herself stiffly. She’s not blind, she’s seen how Santana has always softened and relaxed around her, and she sees how tense and uncomfortable Santana looks right now, and the two do not fit together in her mind. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” Brittany says uncertainly, “What notes do you have?”

Santana glances down at the notebook and flips open to the relevant page. “You moved too far stage left during the _manège_ last night and almost went out of the lighting,” Santana says in a monotone, still not meeting Brittany’s eyes, “So keep within the blocking tonight. And during your _relevés passés_ you—”

“Are you okay?” Brittany blurts.

Santana stiffens but still doesn’t meet her eyes. “Fine.”

“Really?” Brittany says, taking a small step towards Santana, ignoring her small wince even though it makes Brittany feel a little sick. “Are you sure? You seem off. Like you’re really sad about something.”

Santana stiffens even further and looks up at Brittany but still won’t meet her eyes. “I’m fine,” she repeats, and the edge to her voice should warn Brittany off, but of all the things she’s learned about herself, she knows that she’s nothing if not patient and persistent. 

“You can talk to me—”

“I said I’m fine, Brittany!” Santana snaps, and Brittany falls back half a step at the twisted anger on Santana’s face. “ _God_ ,” she snarls, “Don’t you listen?”

Brittany’s brow furrows as she studies Santana, her eyes glowing and her lips pressed tightly together until it looks almost painful, her hands clenched by her sides until her notebook creaks with it and her shoulders jump up by her ears. The other thing Brittany’s learned about herself over the years is that she’s always been good at reading people, and she knows that there’s something off about Santana’s anger. Santana’s been nothing but _soft_ with her, right from the first day they met, and while Brittany’s seen her get annoyed with dancers and crew members alike, she’s never seen her like this before, and she’s more confused than hurt by Santana’s reaction. She’s pretty confident in saying that Santana’s anger isn’t actually directed at her, because Santana’s scowling and glaring at something just past Brittany’s shoulder, her eyes shining too bright and too wet, and briefly Brittany wonders if she’ll see the ghosts of whatever is haunting Santana if she turns her head.

“Santana,” she whispers carefully, but Santana shakes her head with a near violence.

“Just— Just leave me alone,” she snaps, spinning on her heel and storming the few steps towards the dressing room door. She runs straight into Tina in the doorway, who catches her and looks at her with a sort of understanding pain. Santana struggles against Tina’s hold for a long moment that seems to stretch on forever and gives her a wild, almost desperate, look before Tina finally releases her, and then she’s fleeing down the hallway and Brittany’s left staring blankly at the doorway. 

Tina turns to Brittany with something too bright and too sad in her eyes, but before she can even open her mouth to say anything, Brittany is already across the room and desperately grabbing at Tina’s arm. “Is Santana okay?” she asks quickly, scanning Tina’s face to see if she’s going to be honest or lie to her like Santana did when she claimed she was _Fine_.

Tina sighs knowingly and gives Brittany a tiny smile. “She will be, once this week is over.”

“What’s— Does she— What’s going on with her?” Brittany stutters, all her worry and fear and concern trying to jump out of her all at once.

Tina hesitates a little before gently shaking her head. “This time of year is just really hard for her, but it’s not really my place to say.” Tina looks up at Brittany with pleading eyes. “And I know it’s not really fair to you, but please just give her some time and space right now. I swear this will pass soon.”

Brittany nods earnestly, her heart aching for Santana and at the fact that there’s absolutely nothing she can do to ease the pain of whatever she’s going through right now. “I can do that,” she promises, “I just— I want to be there for her.”

A soft and grateful expression passes over Tina’s face as she nods. “I know she might seem a little, you know, bitchy right now or whatever. But she really doesn’t mean it. She just— She has a hard time working through emotions sometimes.”

“Sometimes when people are mean they’re really just sad,” Brittany agrees quietly.

Tina looks up at Brittany sharply, something unreadable clouding her eyes as she studies at the other dancer for a long time. Brittany forces herself not to fidget under Tina’s scrutiny, belatedly realizing she’s still grasping Tina’s arm. “Santana was right about you,” Tina finally says, “You’re kind of a genius.”

Brittany just shrugs the compliment off, ignoring her blush at the thought that Santana talks about her to her best friend because that’s so not the point right now. “I’m just worried about her,” she explains earnestly.

Tina nods and offers Brittany a small smile, reaching up to rub her palm over Brittany’s hand where it’s still clutching her arm. “I’m really glad you two met,” she murmurs. “It might not seem like it right now, but I’ve never seen her happier than when she’s with you. She really likes you.”

Brittany just shakes her head softly, allowing her adoration for Santana to colour her smile and her voice, unable to hide it even if she wanted to. “She makes it really easy to like her,” she confesses.

Tina stares at Brittany for a long moment, searching for something even though Brittany doesn’t know what, before she quickly pulls Brittany into a hug. Brittany stiffens in surprise for a moment before sinking into Tina’s embrace. “Take care of my best friend,” Tina says suddenly, “You mean a lot to her already.”

Brittany sighs into Tina’s shoulder and tightens her arms around her. “She means a lot to me too,” she mumbles.

* * *

Brittany only sees Santana in flashes backstage during the show, and every time she does Santana casts a desperately pleading and guilty look in her direction. Brittany waits around during intermission, talking to some of the dance corps members and keeping an eye on Santana as she wanders around backstage. Santana either stalks around or moves as if she feels small on the inside, repeatedly knotting her hands together as she scans the crowd; Brittany thinks Santana might be searching for her, and the thought makes her chest ache, desperately hoping that Santana might be looking to turn to her, and it makes her even more determined be there for her, to not be the next person to put a dint in Santana’s heart.

Brown eyes meet hers across the off left wing, bright and guilty even through the dim, and Brittany watches Santana steadily as she takes a deep breath and starts to head towards her. She gets stopped half way there, by Quinn urgently grabbing her arm and dragging her off in the opposite direction. Santana casts a desperate look at Brittany as she’s pulled away, so Brittany lifts her hand in a small wave and, even across the darkness of backstage, she can see Santana let out a sigh of relief.

Santana smiles at her, really truly smiles at her, for the first time all day, and gives Brittany a little wave in return, and Brittany feels like she can finally breathe again.

The five minute call sounds and the crowd swallows Quinn and Santana up, but Brittany’s always been good at being patient. 

So she makes it through the show and declines a ride home with Mercedes and sits in her dressing room and waits. She undos her curls first and sighs at the relief of finally letting her hair out of the Sugar Plum Fairy’s too tight bun, exchanging her bodysuit and tights for a sweater, and then roughly wiping her makeup off until she feels freshly scrubbed and human again. She sinks down onto the couch and peels the tape off of her feet before dunking them into the bucket of ice, and it instantly chills her to the bone and freezes her thoughts, just like it always does. Once it gets too cold for her and her teeth are chattering she quickly dries her feet off before searching for her fuzzy socks, locating them on her vanity where she tossed them last night.

She’s just hopping around on one foot as she tugs them on when there’s a hesitant knock on her door. “Come in,” she calls. There’s a long pause before the doorknob finally turns and the hinges creek open. Santana stands there sheepishly, her hands wrung together as she stares at the ground. “Santana?” Brittany calls carefully and Santana jolts a little, like Brittany shocked her instead of spoke to her, her head whipping up as she takes an involuntary and surprised step into the dressing room, the door swinging shut with a soft thud behind her.

Santana’s sheepishness evaporates and something in her eyes change. “Uh, Britt?” she squeaks, breathless like the words are catching against her teeth on the way out, “You’re— Um— I mean— You— Pants?”

Brittany glances down and, despite the fact that she’s a dancer and is more than used to being half-dressed in semi-public, heat instantly prickles at her cheeks. Maybe it’s because it’s so late and the theatre is practically empty, maybe it’s because usually there’s other half-dressed dancers around, maybe it’s because she’s not usually showing off her polar bear patterned underwear, maybe it’s just because it’s Santana, but Brittany finds herself fighting a blush all the way down to her bellybutton as her skin burns hotly. “Um, my sweats are, uh,” she trails off and gestures vaguely towards the chair by the door.

It takes Santana a moment to blink out of her daze and she jolts again, before spinning on her heel and locating the sweats. She turns back around, and this time her eyes are decidedly on anything but Brittany, locked on her own toes before shooting up to study the ceiling. Her breath audibly hitches as she nears Brittany, and Brittany lets a tiny bit of satisfaction colour the blush still burning under her skin. “Here,” Santana says, shoving the sweats blindly at Brittany once she’s within arm reach.

Brittany takes them and quickly tugs them up her legs, murmuring her thanks. There’s a long charged moment until the band snaps against her waist, and both of them let out too-loud breaths of relief in the ensuring charged air between them. The silence stretches on, and Brittany shifts around awkwardly; even back on the first day they met, when Santana was frazzled from the show and Brittany was beating her shoes against the wall, there was never any awkwardness between them. “So,” Brittany starts.

The charged energy changes and Santana finally looks at her, dark eyes a strange combination of guilt and embarrassment and heartbreak. It makes Brittany want to wrap Santana in a hug and never let go, but instead she just waits patiently while Santana searches for words.

“I— Do you want to sit?” Santana finally manages, her voice quieter and raspier than usual, her words coming out thick and wet. Brittany nods, her eyes wide as she follows Santana to the couch. Santana waits until Brittany’s settled before kicks off her sneakers and curls into the corner, shoved between the arm and the back with her knees tucked to her chest, and for the first time Brittany realizes just how _small_ Santana is.

Santana chews on her lip for a long moment and stares blankly past Brittany’s head before her eyes meet blue ones again, wide and deep and teary. “I’m sorry for snapping at you earlier,” she finally whispers.

Brittany shakes her head quickly. “It’s fine, San—”

“No,” Santana interrupts, shaking her head almost violently. “It wasn’t fair to you, Britt. You’ve quickly become one of my best friends, and you’re,” her voice cracks a little and she pauses for a long moment, “You’re really, _really_ important to me, and it just— It wasn’t fair to lash out at you like that, and I’m really sorry that I did.”

Brittany’s breath catches and she just stares at Santana while Santana struggles with whatever words she’s so desperately searching for. 

“It’s just—” Santana breaks off and her eyes slide to the side again, dropping from Brittany’s until she seems to curl even smaller. “My mom died four years ago on the fourteenth,” she finally manages to whisper and something shifts and shatters in Brittany’s chest, “And I just— Sometimes I don’t know how to deal with my emotions and getting quiet is easier to explain than getting angry, but I got both with you and I never meant to.”

Brittany wordlessly shakes her head, a deep-seated ache beneath her sternum making her limbs lock and freeze for a long moment. Santana’s eyes eventually flit back to hers and the tears in them unfreeze Brittany’s body. She barely even registers moving until Santana is fitted against her body as if she’s always been there. Santana chokes on a sudden sob and Brittany’s own eyes start to water in the face of her heartbreak. “Oh, honey,” she mumbles into the dark hair tickling her chin. Santana buries herself further into Brittany’s embrace, her tears making Brittany’s neck wet and sticky as she shakes in Brittany’s arms. “It’s okay,” she coos, adjusting them until she can take all of Santana’s body into the cradle of hers, wrapping as much as herself around Santana as she can as they sink back into the couch and hoping that she is somewhat comforting; she just wishes she could take all of Santana’s pain too. 

“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”


	13. but no one is leaving presents tonight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany brings Santana a picnic brunch; Santana marvels at how exactly someone as amazing as Brittany even exists.

Santana wakes up feeling exhausted and heavy.

Her apartment is empty and cold as she stumbles out of bed, wrapping the knitted afghan on her couch around her shoulders as she heads to the kitchen to fumble with the Keurig. The scent of coffee fills her tiny apartment, the Keurig gurgling as it chugs away. The time on the stove reads _7:17_ and, despite the fact that usually she would never be awake this early unless absolutely necessary, she dreads the thought of trying to go back to sleep. While her coffee brews she heads to the bathroom and quickly brushes her teeth, staring at her reflection for a long moment after she spits the toothpaste out. Her hair is limp and tangled and the bags under her eyes have only grown darker from tossing and turning all night. She avoids looking in the mirror while she washes her face and brushes her hair out until she can pull it into a slightly lopsided bun.

Her coffee is finished by the time she makes it back to the kitchen, the cold tile freezing on her bare feet, and she mechanically stirs in some creamer and sugar before making her way to the living room and curling into her favourite corner of her couch. She aimlessly flips through television channels, resolutely avoiding anything that is only playing cheesy Christmas movies, too tired to get the other remote and turn on Netflix. She sips her coffee and only watches shows in two minute intervals before she gets bored, nothing able to hold her attention for too long.

It’s only barely eight when her phone buzzes against her thigh and sends a jolt through her whole body in shock.

It’s Brittany, because of course it’s Brittany, and despite everything, a smile tugs at her lips as she takes in the contact photo of Brittany making a goofy face at the camera, her blue eyes sparkling and her smile wide and her freckles in stark contrast to her creamy skin. _Hi_ , the text reads.

Santana carefully balances her coffee mug on her stomach and thighs, her knees drawn up towards her chest, creating a small and precarious shelf for her drink. _Hi_ , she responds, _You’re up early_.

_Well Mercedes started her serenading of xmas songs early so_ , Brittany answers, and Santana can practically see her slightly sheepish shrug and grin in the words, _How are you?_

Santana stares blankly at her phone for a long moment, because that’s the million dollar question, isn’t it? 

Surprisingly, she doesn’t feel as lonely or empty as she usually does the day before the fourteenth, and she kind of has a feeling that it might be because of Brittany. Mike and Tina have always been there for her in whatever way she needed, but Santana has always struggled with actually letting them be there for her, and yet somehow Brittany had squeezed past walls Santana hadn’t even really realized were there, creeping into her heart until she was breaking down in Brittany’s arms without a hint of embarrassment.

Yesterday night after the show was surprisingly cathartic, and she hadn’t felt nearly as drained and forlorn and embarrassed and alone as she usually did after breaking down. She felt tired, sure, but something about Brittany’s arms around her and her steady heartbeat against her cheek made Santana feel so safe and protected that it had soothed her almost instantly; the fact that she stayed cuddled into Brittany, letting her rub comforting circles into the tension in her back, until the security guard was clearing the building later that night certainly didn’t hurt.

She should probably feel embarrassed, but she wasn’t lying when she told Tina that she likes who she is around Brittany. And she’s also kind of really grateful that she didn’t scare Brittany away or anything, that Brittany seems to want to be around her even when she’s at her worst, if the fact that Brittany refused to leave her side until they were in an Uber and Santana was insisting that she would be fine by herself for the night is anything to go by.

Her phone buzzes in her hands and startles her out of her thoughts. _You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to_ , Brittany texts, _I totally get that_.

_Sorry no it’s fine_ , Santana answers, _just got distracted. I feel better than yesterday but I just want this week to be over._

_That really sucks, but glad you’re feeling a little better._ Santana watches Brittany type for long time, the three dots appearing and disappearing, until she finally asks, _Do you wanna get breakfast somewhere?_

Despite the fact that she’s had no appetite since Tuesday evening, her stomach gurgles a little at the thought of food; but the idea of showering and leaving the apartment before she has to go to the theatre is not appealing at all. _I’d love to but I don’t really wanna go out in public tbh_. 

There’s another long stretch of Brittany typing, and Santana patiently waits, sipping on her long-cold coffee. _Brunch picnic at your apartment?_ Brittany finally asks, _I’ll bring the food and coffee if you manage to find a blanket?_ She adds a smiley face at the end and Santana finds one curling her lips in response. 

_That sounds fun_ , Santana answers.

_Awesome!_ Brittany responds, and Santana so wishes she could see what is probably an adorably excited smile on her face, _See you around 11?_

Santana agrees and finishes the last sip of her coffee, wincing as the combination of the cold and the coffee grinds from her dying Keurig makes it taste weirdly sharp, almost alcoholic. She putters around her apartment for a while, tidying up even though there’s not much of a mess; she’s not necessarily a neat person, but being at the theatre for the majority of her waking hours leaves less time for her to make a mess at home. She finds an old throw blanket in the linen closet that smells stale and vaguely of moth balls despite the fact that she’s pretty she’s never had moth balls in this apartment before, and takes it to the living room. She turns the coffee table on a ninety degree angle from where it usually sits so it rests flush against the couch on its short end before she spreads the blanket over the carpet in front of the couch, flipping the corners back flat against the floor with her toe. It’s only nine thirty by the time she’s done, so she finally convinces herself to have a hot shower because, despite her lack of energy or desire to do so, she knows it will make her feel better.

She debates by her closet for a long while before shrugging and settling on some sweats and a hoodie from her college days; it’s not like she’s trying to impress Brittany right now, because not only has Brittany held her while she kinda fell apart, but also because Brittany usually sees her frazzled and dressed in old ratty jeans and a black t-shirt basically every day of the week, so this is barely even a step down from that.

It’s _10:42_ when someone buzzes her apartment, and she quickly crosses her living room to answer it and let Brittany in. It feels like minutes rather than seconds until there’s a knock on her door, and she opens it to find Brittany with her hands full of food and drinks. She’s dressed in sweats too, her thicker winter jacket zipped up to her chin and her knitted hut tugged a little too low over her forehead like always, a soft smile playing on her lips.

“Hi,” she breathes.

“Hey,” Santana quickly reaches forwards to grab the tray of drinks from Brittany so she doesn’t look as off balanced, stepping back to let her in, “You’re early.”

Brittany flusters for a moment before she manages to recover and smirk at Santana. “And you’re ready anyways.”

Santana grins and shrugs, waiting a moment for Brittany to kick off her sneakers by the door before leading Brittany back through her apartment and into her living room. She sets the tray of warm drinks down on the coffee table before lowering herself with a small groan; there’s already napkins and cutlery on the table because she was too antsy to sit still earlier.

Brittany drops the bags on the coffee table before lowering herself down too. There’s far more than a couple feet of space on the blanket, but she elects to sit close enough to Santana that that their shoulders press together. Santana smiles at her lap for a moment before glancing at Brittany out of the corner of her eye, finding her smiling softly as pink splotches her cheeks a little. She’s so cute that it takes a moment for Santana to snap out of her daze enough to realize she’s kind of been staring at Brittany for a while, and so she quickly turns to the coffee table to distribute the drinks and napkins and cutlery and ignores the warm flush that starts in her stomach and curls up to her cheeks. 

“Where’d you go?” she asks.

Brittany shrugs a little and ducks her head down, and when Santana glances at her, her cheeks are more pink than creamy and, this close, Santana can see how her blush almost completely obscures her freckles. “Just that place you and Mike and Tina always go to.”

Santana furrows her brow, but now that Brittany mentions it, she realizes that the scent filling her apartment is achingly familiar. “They don’t do takeout or delivery though,” she says in confusion.

Brittany bobs her head in a slight nod and smiles a little. “I may have sweet talked that waitress who always teases you guys, just a little bit,” she says, holding her hand up until her thumb and forefinger are barely a millimetre apart.

“Britt,” Santana sighs, and not for the first time she wonders how someone as amazing as Brittany even exists, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know but—” Brittany shrugs again and fidgets with a slightly unraveled string on the right knee of her sweats, “I wanted to.”

Santana just smiles at her for a long moment before she reaches out and takes Brittany’s free hand, gently squeezing it until Brittany’s blue eyes meet hers. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

Brittany’s face creases in a bright smile, her cheeks scrunching her eyes up until they’re catlike and sparkling and the most beautiful thing Santana’s ever seen. “You’re welcome,” she whispers. “I got the Sunshine Special for us, like usual, but I had to get coffee somewhere else since, you know, they don’t do takeout so they didn’t have any disposable coffee cups.”

Santana shakes her head a little and gives Brittany a slightly lopsided smile. “I know I’ve said it before but you’re something else, Britt.”

Brittany shrugs and twists her wrist just a little until her fingers catch around Santana’s and tangle. “I just like making you smile,” she says easily.

Santana sucks in a sharp breath and has to fight every nerve in her body from leaning forward and kissing the hell out of Brittany. It’s not that she doesn’t want to, it’s just bad timing; she doesn’t want to kiss Brittany with the anniversary of her mom’s death hanging over her head. She wants it to be something that’s just theirs, so instead she just squeezes Brittany’s hand in hers before moving to stand. “I should grab some plates too.”

Brittany lets out a slow breath and nods easily. Santana smiles at Brittany making herself at home, leaned against the couch and stuck in place by the spread of their picnic around her. She quickly escapes to the kitchen before she is completely frozen by how endearing Brittany is, and grabs a couple plates from her cupboard. She also grabs the peanut butter from the next cupboard, debating how well she can carry everything for a moment before relenting and grabbing the syrup and ketchup bottle from the fridge, since she’s noticed Brittany likes it on her hash browns and eggs. She hip-checks the fridge door closed and balances everything carefully before returning to the living room.

Brittany’s no longer trapped in her nest of food and napkins and cutlery, but standing with her back to Santana and the rest of the living room. Santana silently places everything down on the blanket before moving to see what Brittany’s looking at. She’s standing between the window and the television, where there’s a small shelving unit build into the wall. It’s where Santana keeps most of her framed pictures, her college diploma, a couple of old birthday cards from her mom and Mike and Tina, and her mom’s old knickknacks that she’d had for long before Santana was born.

Santana doesn’t have to see where exactly Brittany’s looking to know what’s caught her attention; the five framed picture, her favourite ones, sitting just below Brittany’s eye level and just above her own. 

The first one is of her mom in the hospital mere moments after Santana was born; she’s exhausted and her hair sticks to her face in a dark sweaty mess, but it’s the picture that Santana’s always stared at the most over the past couple years, because as Santana’s gotten older she’s seen herself in her mom at the same age more and more, in their hair and in their smiles and, mostly, in their eyes. 

The next picture is of her mom and herself a week before her first day of junior year in New York; her hair is in wild curls and a baseball cap is pulled low over her eyes, and she’s hanging off her mom, who’s a little older and whose laugh lines are a little deeper than they were sixteen years ago. They both look absolutely exhausted, but elated, as they stand in an empty apartment in Washington Heights, the apartment that would be home until her mom died, each holding a pair of keys up for the camera with proud smiles. 

The middle picture is of a slightly younger Tina and Mike and her, Tina and Mike dressed in their costumes from whatever show they were doing and Santana in all black, a headset around her neck; Mike’s hair hangs messily into his eyes from before Tina and her convinced him to cut it at least a little bit shorter, Tina has streaks of electric blue peaking out from under the ridiculous hat her character wore, andSantana’s hair is pulled back in a messy ponytail. Her favourite part of the picture is the smudge of tan in the bottom right corner that obscures all of Santana’s body and most of Tina’s from about the shoulders down, because she’ll never forget the look on her mom’s face when the pictures were developed and she realized that her thumb was featured in most of the pictures she took of their third year spring semester’s show. 

The next one is Santana and her mom, her laugh lines even deeper as she kisses Santana firmly on the cheek, just a hint of the Stephen Sondheim Theatre behind them; Santana’s beaming at the camera because it was her first official assistant stage manager job at a real theatre, a show she worked on for its short three week run over summer break between her third and fourth year. Her mom’s expression is overflowing with adoration and pride even though only the hinge of her jaw, her pursed lips, her squished nose, and her dark eyelashes are visible to the camera. 

The last picture is of Santana and her mom in her mom’s dining room, in the middle of summer at her apartment in Washington Heights, their cheeks pressed together over a small, slightly amateur cake that Santana had baked and decorated herself; her mom is older and thinner in this picture, her cheekbones a little more pronounced and the dark circles under her eyes darker than ever before. Santana has her arms looped around her mom’s neck from behind, both of them smiling widely at the camera, their hair blending together into a wild mass of dark waves.

“That was a couple months before she died,” Santana says suddenly. 

Brittany jolts and gasps, glancing over her shoulder to find Santana standing there, watching her study the pictures. Brittany looks embarrassed to have been caught snooping, her eyes wide and her toes tapping together, but Santana just smiles reassuringly at her. Brittany seems to search for words for a moment before she gives Santana a soft smile. “You have her eyes. And her smile.” 

Santana’s smile wavers a little but her eyes are bright and delighted. “That’s what everyone always says,” she says proudly.

“You were a really cute baby too,” Brittany says, her attention turning back to the pictures. “You have, like, the tiniest ears ever.”

Santana crosses the living room to peer over Brittany’s shoulder at the picture of her as a newborn. “Mami always told me I was born with hair on my ears like a monkey,” she says with a laugh, “but I think she was mostly just messing with me.”

“Well you’re the tiniest and cutest baby I’ve ever seen,” Brittany declares, and Santana ducks her head as heat rushes to her cheeks.

“I was about a month early,” Santana explains, “All developed, just pint sized.”

Brittany subtly straightens up to her full height and leans her elbow on Santana’s shoulder, grinning widely down at her. “You’re still pint sized,” she teases.

Santana laughs and swats at Brittany’s stomach with a small eye roll. “Oh, shut up,” she complains, “Let’s eat before the food gets cold.”

Brittany grins and bounces over to the blanket, her limbs collapsing in that careless grace of hers as she sits. Santana sits beside her and passes her a plate as they quietly start dish up their food, Santana handing Brittany the ketchup and then the syrup. She’s surprised to find that the food is still hot and not at all soggy and her coffee is perfect, like it always is when Brittany gets it, and Santana wonders how exactly Brittany manages to be, like, incredibly perfect all the time.

“Can I ask you something?” Brittany says suddenly.

Santana swallows her mouthful of eggs and nods, taking a quick sip of her coffee. “Course.”

“Was your mom’s death— Was it sudden?”

Santana takes another sip of her coffee debating; it’s surprisingly not as hard as she thought it would be to talk about this with Brittany, who gives Santana her full attention, eyes wide and steady on her own. “For me it was. But it wasn’t for her. She knew for months before she told me and I was busy working on some dumb show and she was—” she lets out a shuddering breath. “She didn’t tell me until it was too late.”

Brittany nods and picks at her hash browns before glancing back up at Santana with a small smile. “Tell me about her,” she says.

Santana stares at Brittany for a long moment before she smiles softly, shifting a little until their knees brush. Mike and Tina already knew her mom really well all throughout their college years since she was always inviting them over to feed the three of them and make sure they didn’t starve while on a diet of ramen cups and microwaveable frozen meals, so she’s never had to tell them about her, and she’s never gotten close enough with anyone else to even _want_ to tell them about her mom. But with Brittany’s soft blue eyes on hers, attentive and fond and understanding, she’s actually eager to tell Brittany about the woman who raised her. Even with Mike and Tina it gets too painful sometimes to talk about her mom, and they completely respect that and she kind of really loves them for it, but for possibly the first time in four years she actually really wants to gush about her mom. “She really liked to freak other parents out with crazy stories about emerg,” she starts, “I was the coolest kid in grade one because when she volunteered in our classroom she always told the scariest and most gruesome Halloween stories, and only her and I knew that they weren’t made up or anything. It was like we had our own little secret.”

* * *

Santana wakes up to fingers slowly trailing over her arm, actually feeling warm and well rested and relaxed for the first time since Tuesday when she realized how close it was to the anniversary of mom’s death.

It takes her a moment longer than it should to realize that she’s curled up into Brittany’s side, her head tucked against Brittany’s shoulder and neck and Brittany’s arm draped around her own shoulders, fingertips dancing across her arm with slowly increasing pressure. She mumbles something, still half-asleep and more comfortable than she’s ever been, and nuzzles closer to Brittany.

“Come on, sleepy head,” Brittany murmurs, and Santana can hear the smile in her voice, “You’ve gotta wake up soon.”

“Time is’t?” she croaks. Brittany’s warm and comfortable under her, and she feels no inclination to move, like, ever. 

“Like one,” Brittany says, “I figured you probably wanna get ready before we have to be at the theatre. You’ve been sleeping for about an hour. And you’ve really gotta finish that story about your mom helping you win a snowball fight since you feel asleep right in the middle of it.”

Santana grunts in response, absentminded and content, her limbs still heavy with sleep and comfort. Brittany’s fingers trailing over her arm, even through the thick fabric of her hoodie, feels perfect and she’s dreading going to the theatre today because that means she’ll have to actually move from where she is right now. 

“You’re cute when you sleep,” Brittany whispers.

Santana cracks one eye open and glances around her living room. Brittany’s legs are spread out in front of them, Santana’s knees curled over her thighs, and they’re sitting slung at an angle against the couch, Brittany’s head resting atop Santana’s head and the couch cushion. Santana has one hand tangled in Brittany’s sweater, her other one squished between them and painfully tingling as it starts wakes up. “Your butt must be numb,” Santana grumbles, only half of her filter actually working.

Brittany laughs, shaking both of them with the force of it, but not enough to dislodge Santana from her side. “A little,” she agrees, “But it was so worth it.”

Santana hums and lets her eyes close again and just rests there for a long moment, Brittany’s fingers still dancing and tapping all along her arm, Santana’s body moving gently with Brittany’s soft breathing. “We should do this more often,” Santana finally mumbles.

“What, picnics in your living room?”

“Cuddling,” Santana corrects, and she can feel the hitch in Brittany’s breathing jolt their bodies a little. Santana hesitates for a long moment before turning her head slightly and pressing a soft kiss to Brittany’s collarbone through the fabric of her shirt. Brittany’s fingers dig in a little at the move and Santana’s pretty sure Brittany stops breathing entirely for a moment. “Thanks, for this morning,” she murmurs.

“Yeah,” Brittany says distractedly, and Santana can hear the dreamy daze in her voice, “We totally should.”

Santana just grins and nuzzles closer, content to stay exactly where she is until they absolutely have to get moving lest they be late.


	14. but somewhere in winter misery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana invites Brittany to go with her today; Brittany learns a little bit more about Santana, and finds herself hard pressed to hide that she’s definitely falling in love with her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is for the people that have a hard time around the holidays because they’re missing people, or something fell apart for them, or went through something life changing, because as much as I absolutely love Christmastime, I’m missing lots of people in my life and it always gets hard around this time. This is the second Christmas without my grandma, and it’s hard to remember that she’s never going to kick my ass in a game of crib; it’s been thirteen Christmases since my dad left and even if it doesn’t hurt anymore it’s so weird to me; and the my sister is facing the possibility of another tumour. So believe me when I say that I know that this time of year can be Hard when your missing people or going through something difficult, but it’s also the only time of year all fourteen members of my family—and whatever other stragglers and dogs we drag in from the cold—are all in the same town long enough to spend time together eating too much food and trash talking each other during games of cards, so I still love it more than any other time of year.
> 
> So to those who are missing loved ones at the table this year, to those whose lives changed drastically, to those who suffered failure after failure, and to those who’ve faced so much pain that they didn’t think that they’d ever get through, but still did; this is to say that I know the holidays can be hard this time of year, but that you’re loved and you deserve to let yourself be happy.
> 
> It’ll get easier as the years go by, I promise.
> 
> Also! I didn't know finding a cemetery—let alone a plot in a cemetery—in Manhattan was so hard? So I took artistic liberties with that part lmao. And bonus points to anyone who knows what song I mentioned early on in the fic and catches the second reference to it, because that's what I listened to while writing the last couple chapters.

It’s Brittany’s phone ringing that wakes her up, and she rolls over with a grunt and blindly gropes her bedside table until she locates the annoying loud and annoyingly bright object and squints at it. The sun’s up, but only technically, and her phone casts her dim room in too much light, but the picture of Santana laughing that Brittany had snuck last week greets her and every ounce of annoyance in her body melts away.

She quickly swipes her thumb across the screen, fumbling a couple times to get it to respond, before raising it to her ear. “Hi,” she mumbles, sinking back into her pillow, the dark wrapping around her like another heavy blanket.

“ _Hey_ ,” Santana greets quietly, “ _I didn’t wake you, did I?_ ”

Brittany debates lying, but she’s pretty sure Santana would somehow know. “Yeah, but it’s fine.”

“ _Sorry_ ,” Santana mumbles. 

There’s a long moment of silence as they just breathe together, long enough that Brittany pulls her phone from her ear to make sure it’s still connected; as soon as she processes the date at the top of her screen her heart clenches and she’s suddenly wide awake. “You okay?” Brittany whispers.

Santana hesitates a little before she answers. “ _I’ve been better, obviously. But, uh, honestly? I think I might be. Getting there, at least._ ” She’s quiet for a moment, and when she continues speaking Brittany can hear the small smile in her voice. “ _Talking to you about her yesterday helped. A lot, actually._ ”

“I’m glad,” Brittany says earnestly. “It was really cool to hear you talk about her. She sounds like she was amazing.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” Santana says simply, “ _She really was_.”

Brittany hums and waits for Santana to continue. She knows Santana called her for a reason, and Brittany’s content just to patiently wait.

“ _Listen_ ,” Santana says, and there’s movement on the other end as fabric shifts and scratches together, “ _I was wondering if you wanted to maybe come with me today? To, um— To visit her grave._ ” Before Brittany can even blink, Santana’s already rambling on, breathlessly and nervously; it sounds like she might be pacing. “ _I mean— I just— You don’t have to, you know, if you don’t want to. You just— You make me feel calmer and like— I dunno I just feel more settled or whatever but you— I mean I— Just forget I—_ ”

“Santana,” Brittany interrupts and Brittany can hear the click of teeth as Santana snaps her mouth closed, “I’d love to go.”

Santana sucks in a sharp breath. “Really?” she asks shyly.

“Of course,” Brittany says softly, “If it’s important to you, it’s important to me too.”

“Cool,” Santana whispers, but Brittany can hear the small smile in her voice. 

“What time? And where do you wanna meet?”

There’s more shifting of fabric, and it sounds like Santana’s sat down. She wonders if she’s on the couch or in her bed, if she slept well last night, if Brittany should have done more than give her a hug when they left the theatre yesterday. “ _Um. The show’s at eight tonight_ ,” she deliberates aloud, “ _and we’ve gotta be there around two. And it’s a bit of a trip to the cemetery, and I uh— I always stop to get lunch at this café in the neighbourhood, if— If you want to, I mean._ ”

“I’d love to,” Brittany says quietly.

“ _Okay_ ,” Santana continues on a breathy sigh of relief, and Brittany smiles a little because Santana’s so soft and bashful and adorable when you really get to know her, “ _So meet me at my apartment at ten then? That’ll give us plenty of time_.”

“I’ll see you then,” Brittany promises.

“ _Bye, Britt_ ,” Santana murmurs, “ _And— Thanks. For coming with me._ ”

“Of course. Bye,” Brittany says softly, waiting until Santana’s hung up before she sighs, high and dreamy. 

Brittany allows herself a little bit to lay there and stare up at the ceiling before forcing herself to sit up, stumbling through her room until she makes it to the door. She can hear Mercedes in the kitchen making coffee and singing along to the speakers. She’s been listening to some Spotify playlist of Christmas songs for the last couple weeks now, and today is starting out with some Coldplay as Brittany emerges into the kitchen. 

“Morning,” she calls softly, not wanting to startle Mercedes.

It doesn’t work, because Mercedes jumps and almost throws the spoon she’s using to stir her coffee across the kitchen as she spins around. “Brittany,” she shrieks, “You just about gave me a damn heart attack.” 

Brittany scrunches her face up in apology. “Sorry, I was trying to avoid that. But you know what they say about heart attacks.”

“Jeez,” Mercedes says breathlessly, clutching her chest. “At this point if I loved you anymore I’d need a casket.”

Brittany winces a little. It’s not like Mercedes would ever know why that hits a little close to home today, so she just heads further into the kitchen. She figures she can have a cup of coffee and maybe a bowl of cereal before she gets ready. 

“What are you doing up so early?” Mercedes asks once she’s finally regained her composure and Brittany’s already shoved a coffee cup under the Keurig.

“I’m meeting up with Santana,” Brittany explains, sniffing the milk before she starts pouring it into her cereal. She sets it up on the kitchen island in front of her usual stool with a spoon before exchanging the milk for the coffee creamer.

Mercedes’ face splits into a wide smirk and she nudges Brittany with her elbow. “Really?” she says suggestively. “You’re meeting with _Santana_?”

“Yeah,” Brittany says simply. She turns to grab her coffee from underneath the Keurig when Mercedes’ gentle hand on her arm stops her.

“Hey,” she says softly. “Is everything okay? You’re really quiet this morning. And usually you’re a blushing mess when I mention Santana.”

Brittany hesitates because, while this is her very best friend and she trusts her with everything and she _knows_ Mercedes would never say a word, she doesn’t want to betray Santana’s trust. “Everything’s fine,” she says slowly, trying to keep her explanation really vague, “But it’s just— Santana asked me to go with her to do something really personal and she’s really sad about it.” 

Mercedes is quiet for a long moment, searching Brittany’s eyes before she finally smiles softly. “I get why you aren’t telling me everything,” she says, “But can I offer some advice?”

Brittany nods quickly.

“Take some flowers,” Mercedes suggests.

Brittany blinks, wondering how in the world Mercedes could even know that she had been quietly debating whether or not it was appropriate to bring flowers for Santana’s mom. Instead, she just wraps Mercedes in a hug and murmurs her _thanks_ into her hair.

Mercedes holds her tightly for a moment before releasing her with a playful poke in Brittany’s stomach. “Now hurry up and eat before your cereal gets soggy.”

Brittany gasps and glances over at her bowl, only to find that it’s definitely too late. “Damnit,” she mutters, and Mercedes just giggles beside her.

* * *

The air is freezing when she steps out of her apartment, the cold instantly taking her breath away and burning the inside of her nose. A thin layer of white covers the city and her breath mists in front of her face in tiny clouds, dissipating even before she can walk through it. She shoves her hands deep into her pocket and heads in the direction of Santana’s apartment, looking for the small florist shop that Mercedes found for her while she showered.

When she finds it, tucked between a hair salon and a thrift store, the shop is empty, but the bell above the door prompts someone to call “I’ll be with you in a moment!” from the back.

Brittany wanders the shop, more than a little overwhelmed by all the choices and colours, flowers she can barely recognize let alone name and every single combination of colours she could ever imagine. She scans rows and rows of flowers, each more beautiful than the last, until she spots a bouquet tucked away behind a bunch of others; it’s nowhere near as big as the others around it, in fact it’s kind of small, but that’s what catches her attention. There’s so many flowers she doesn’t recognize, but it’s the blue forget-me-nots spotting the white carnations and the gladioli that catches her eye. She carefully extracts it from the others and fingers the petals of a cluster of forget-me-nots. She already knows it’s perfect, but she carefully inspects the flowers to make sure, before heading to the cash register just as the florist exits the back. 

“Sorry about that,” he says, dusting his hands on his apron. “I see you’ve already found something.”

Brittany just nods and hands the bouquet over, digging through her jacket pocket to find her wallet.

“Flowers for a special someone?” the florist says suggestively as he rings the bouquet up. “Twenty-nine ninety-nine.”

Brittany fumbles for a moment before shrugging. “For her mom, actually,” she clarifies as she holds up her debit card. The florist hits a button on the cash register and Brittany waits for the debit machine to respond.

“Ah,” he says knowingly, “Meeting the in-laws then.”

“Something like that,” Brittany agrees vaguely, punching in her pin and forcing herself not to take out her card too early as she is wont to do.

The florist must sense something in Brittany’s answer because he studies Brittany for a long moment before smiling a little. “Well, if you’re nervous I know this will make a good first impression,” he says, handing the bouquet, now slipped into protective plastic, and the receipt over, “But the only thing that really matters is that they know you’re making their little girl happy.”

Brittany flusters, and a part of her wants to explain everything; that her and Santana aren’t actually— That they’re not— At least not yet— 

She wants to explain that she won’t be showing up to Santana’s mom’s house with a bottle of wine and a desperate hope that she’ll accept Brittany. 

She wants to explain that they’re spending the morning out in the bitter cold instead, staring at cold grey when they should be laughing with warm brown eyes.

But instead Brittany just smiles gracefully and takes the bouquet with a murmur of _thanks_ and quietly leaves the store, carefully tucking the bouquet against her jacket to protect the flowers from the winter wind and heading down the street.

* * *

Santana’s huddled in the lobby when Brittany arrives fifteen minutes early, and she spots Brittany out the window of the front door and quickly hurries to greet her. Brittany’s still on the steps when Santana opens the door, and Santana’s small smile of greeting falters at the sight of the flowers in Brittany’s arms, the door swinging shut behind her with a resolute thud. Brittany flusters and chews on her lip, her blush burning her cheeks even more fiercely than usual because her skin is so cold. “I—” she starts and then breaks off when Santana’s smile comes back, somehow softer and more tender than Brittany’s ever seen.

“Is that for my mom?” she whispers.

Brittany searches for her voice but finds it curled up somewhere deep in her chest so she just nods wordlessly.

Santana’s eyes catch on hers, melting and liquid and deep like molasses. She closes the distance between them, her hand landing on Brittany’s ice cold one where it cradles the stems of the flowers. She’s taller than Brittany for once, standing at the top of the stairs and Brittany still a couple steps down, and Brittany nearly stops breathing as Santana leans down, her face drawing impossibly closer to hers. 

Brittany’s heart pounds so fast she thinks she might be having a heart attack. 

Santana’s lips are achingly soft as they brush over Brittany’s numb cheek, burning Brittany’s skin with their warmth and waking up every single nerve ending until they’re all tuned to Santana, and Brittany gasps at the gentle pressure. When Santana draws back, she’s still smiling softly, her eyes melting and liquid and deep.

“Thank you,” she murmurs.

Brittany’s voice, as well as most coherent thought, remains lost somewhere deep inside her, so she just nods dumbly. Santana’s smile widens a little and she steps down beside Brittany, nodding down the street. “If we hurry we can catch the next train,” she says.

Brittany trails after Santana and tries to gather her scattered thoughts, but when Santana shoots her a shy smile over her shoulder Brittany realizes she’s probably never going to collect them ever again, and she’s kind of okay with that.

* * *

The café is tiny and its doorway is tucked around the corner, but it’s warm and homey inside and Brittany’s legs immediately start prickling painfully as they’re exposed to the wave of warmth in the café.

Santana gasps beside her. “God that feels nice,” she says, turning her face up to the heater above the doorway.

Brittany stomps the snow off her boots and blows quick puffs of hot air into her one hand, her other arm occupied with cradling the flowers. “It hurts,” she whines.

Santana smiles at Brittany. “Let me buy you a coffee then,” she offers, “It’ll warm you up.”

Brittany tips her head to the side, squinting and scanning the menu hanging above the front counter. She bounces up on the balls of her feet, the burning in her thighs forgotten as she reads the options; she reaches over and grabs Santana’s arm with a wide grin. “Can I try the caramel hot chocolate instead?” she asks excitedly, “I haven’t had one in forever.” 

Santana smiles and agrees. There’s a couple people scattered around the café, but no one in line so Santana steps right up to the counter. A college aged kid is dancing a little as he cleans the counter, his back to them and large headphones around his neck, singing quietly under his breath, his voice smooth with just a hint of a growl. Santana whistles to get his attention and he jolts at the sound, spinning around with an embarrassed and wide-eyed look. He relaxes as soon as he sees Santana and his face ripples as he tries to adopt a stern look around his grin. “You’ve gotta stop doing that,” he grumbles.

Santana just smirks at him, completely unapologetic. “Maybe you need to stop blasting that noise you call music through your headphones when you’re working, Mr. Full Ride Music Scholarship,” she teases.

The kid’s eyes roll before sliding to take in Brittany and the flowers and snapping back to Santana, his eyes close to bulging as his jaw slackens a little, parting full lips. “A caramel hot chocolate and a café con leche,” Santana says before the kid can even say anything, and as Brittany glances at Santana out of the corner of her eye she can see the slight flush to her cheeks.

The kid seems to notice this too and smirks but doesn’t push Santana further. “Names for the drinks?” he asks playfully.

“ _I Used to Hold Your Hand to Cross the Street_ and _None of Your Business_ ,” Santana snarks.

The kid’s smirk turns a little wicked and his eyes slide back to Brittany. “That’s a little long,” he says with barely contained seriousness, “Do you go by nicknames?”

“ _Watch it or I’ll_ —”

“Brittany and Santana,” Brittany interrupts. Santana looks at Brittany with exaggerated betrayal but Brittany just bumps her hip against Santana’s until her face creases into a dimpled smile.

“How much?” Santana asks as she turns back to the kid, digging her wallet out of her jacket pocket.

“On the house,” the kid says easily. 

Santana seems to know better than to argue, so she just grins her thanks and ushers Brittany to the pick-up counter.

“So how do you know about this place?” Brittany asks.

“It was mami’s favourite café,” Santana explains, giving a warm smile as she glances around the café before meeting Brittany’s eyes, her voice lifting with rehearsed cheer, “ _Best café con leche in the whole damn city._ ” It sounds both quoted and comfortable, and Brittany wishes, not for the first time, that she got a chance to meet the woman who raised Santana.

“It’s cute,” Brittany says softly. Santana beams at her and shifts a little until their arms press together and doesn’t make any move to pull away.

“Roderick’s dad owns the café,” Santana explains, nodding at the kid as he starts making their drinks, “I’ve been coming here since we moved to the city and Roderick was still a dorky kid in elementary school. Now he’s just a dorky kid in his first year of college.”

“Hey!” Roderick protests, pointing an accusatory finger at Santana, the tea towel in his hand swinging lazily between them across the counter, “I resent that.” Santana sticks her tongue out at Roderick, who sticks his tongue out right back as his face twists in a mock sneer, much to the horror of the old woman who just stepped up to the cash register. Roderick flushes at being caught making fun of a customer, and abandons Santana and Brittany’s drinks to take the old woman’s order. 

“I used to babysit him sometimes,” Santana continues. “When we first moved here my mom only worked a point eight, and we were kinda struggling to make ends meet. But she came in here one day for a coffee and her and Roderick’s father got to talking, and he ended up hiring her part-time while we got our footing in the city, so I spent a lot of time here doing homework or whatever. In exchange for free coffee I’d babysit Roderick a couple times a week.”

Brittany’s lips curl up in a smile as she glances at Roderick, who now dwarves Santana in stature. “That’s cute,” she says honestly.

Santana laughs. “He was a good kid. Just don’t tell him I said that.”

Brittany smirks. “You’re cute when you’re pretending you’re not, like, the biggest softie,” she observes.

Santana instantly flusters, ducking her head down to hide her dimples. “Oh, shut up you,” she mumbles.

Brittany just grins and resists the urge to wrap Santana, blushing face and all, into a tight hug; the flowers in her arms would make hugging her difficult and help her resist the urge, though not by much.

* * *

They end up having a second cup of coffee and hot chocolate together, sharing a pastry as they people watch. Santana talks about her mom a little more, and Brittany notices its with more nostalgia than pain, but mostly they just enjoy the other’s company outside of the theatre, complaining about the show and the company and making fun of people passing on the street and sitting a little too close to be entirely friendly.

They linger in the café for perhaps longer than they should, because they’ll probably end up being a little late to the theatre depending on how long they spend at the cemetery, but Brittany can’t find it in herself to regret it as they stand to leave. Before Santana can, Brittany quickly grabs her jacket off the back of her seat and helps her into it, feeling even more couple-y than she has all day doing couple-y things with her. Santana smiles, dimples deep and nose scrunched, up at Brittany as she slips her arms into her jacket before winding her own scarf around her neck while Brittany grabs the flowers off the table. Santana takes their dirty cups to the bucket of dirty dishes by the napkins and spices and lids while Brittany trails after her to the door.

Roderick stops them before they leave to pull Santana into a tight hug; Santana protests and rolls her eyes, but as soon as she’s wrapped in his embrace she softens. “My dad wishes he could have been here to see you today too but he’s got some business meeting he couldn’t get out of,” he whispers, and Brittany quickly averts her eyes, feeling a little bit like an intruder. “He’s missed you.”

Santana sighs into Roderick’s shoulder. “I missed him too, both of you. I just—”

“I know,” Roderick interrupts quickly. “We get it, but you should stop by more often.” Roderick’s eyes slide to Brittany over Santana’s shoulder and he gives her a shy smile. “I’m sure my dad would love to meet Brittany.”

Brittany doesn’t need to see Santana’s face to know it’s breathless and flushed and too bright, because she can feel a blush crawling hotly along her own cheeks and down into her neck. Roderick gives Santana one more squeeze before letting her go and Brittany and Santana’s eyes catch briefly before averting as they both laugh breathlessly, blushing furiously, and leave the café.

Santana turns left as soon as they’re on the sidewalk, the bitter cold stealing the air from their lungs and the gently falling snow dusting Santana’s hair like stars in a night sky, silent for half a block before they both start talking at once.

“I’m sorry about that—”

“It’s fine, really I—”

“They’ve just never met anyone I—”

“They seem really nice—”

“They’re going to be super embarrassing—”

“I’d really like to meet Roderick’s dad now too—”

They both pause in their rambling and meet each other’s eyes before bursting into giggles, both of their cheeks pink with more than the cold. “Really?” Santana says, unable to hide the pleased and hopeful gleam to her eyes.

“Totally,” Brittany promises, chewing on her lip for a moment. “I have a feeling they have all kinds of embarrassing teenage Santana stories,” she teases.

“Oh god,” Santana groans, burying her face in her hands, “I can’t believe that slipped my mind.”

Brittany nudges Santana with her elbow. “Hey,” she says softly, waiting until Santana’s peaking at her from behind her hands, “I don’t want to know those stories because they’re embarrassing, I want to know them because they’re what made you _you_ , and I want to know everything about you.”

Santana’s hands drop from her face and she shakes her head softly at Brittany, her expression unbelieving, her smile soft and sweet enough that Brittany’s heart starts to ache with how beautiful Santana is and how much she really, really, really likes being around her. Neither of them look away until they almost run straight into another couple walking down the sidewalk, and they both laugh a little as they finally look away and focus on walking. They’re mostly quiet as Santana leads them through the neighbourhood, occasionally exchanging soft smiles or guiding the other out of the way of another pedestrian with a gentle hand on the small of their back.

They turn a corner and Santana’s sucks in a sharp breath. Brittany follows her gaze until she spots the sign above the cemetery, high above the neighbourhood and easily seen even from blocks away, and Brittany’s chest clenches.

“Sometimes I just can’t believe she’s gone,” Santana suddenly mumbles, “That I can’t just call her up and tell her about whatever dumb thing happened at the theatre, or that she won’t ever call me to complain about what drunk patient she had to deal with. That I haven’t heard her ringtone in four years. That I have to visit her at a cemetery now and I can’t just show up unannounced at our old apartment in Washington Heights because someone else has moved in— Has lived there for years,” Santana corrects. Santana’s silent for a long time, studying the ground as they walk. She finally sucks in a shuddering breath and glances up at Brittany, giving her a tiny smile, her eyes both warm and heartsick. “I just miss her,” she says simply.

Brittany doesn’t know what to say, so she just gives Santana a soft smile and makes a small acknowledging sound, which seems to be the right move because Santana just smiles back and presses closer to Brittany as they near the cemetery in silence.

Santana slips her hand into Brittany’s as soon as the iron wrought gate comes into view. Brittany sucks in a sharp breath before breathing it out in a puff of white, glancing down at Santana only to find Santana already staring up at her. Her brown eyes are a little pained, but mostly they’re soft and adoring as she looks up at Brittany. “She would have liked you, you know,” Santana says with a small smile.

Brittany’s pretty sure her heart stops beating; she definitely stops breathing, and her mind kind of goes a little haywire at the words. Santana’s told her all about what an amazing woman her mom was, and the idea that she— That Santana’s mom— That she would have— 

“Really?” she manages on a gasp.

Santana nods and squeezes Brittany’s fingers where they’re tangled with her own. “You make me happy,” she says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world, and Brittany supposes it kind of is. 

She sighs and melts and smiles softly at Santana. “I wish I could have met her,” she admits quietly, “But I kind of feel like I already have, in the way you talk about her. And how you are, because she raised you.” They draw to a stop in front of the gate, the snowy grass crunching beneath their feet. She turns to Santana, tugging gently on their clasped hands until Santana is facing her. “But, I still would have loved to meet her. Because you make me happy too. And I think,” she pauses for a moment, gathering her thoughts because this is important and she wants to make sure she gets it right, “I think that she would have liked to know that. Not just that there’s someone that makes you happy, but that there’s someone who you make happy too. That— That you can share your happiness with someone.”

Santana’s smile widens a little as she ducks her head. “She definitely would have liked you,” she mumbles, glancing up at Brittany from beneath her eyelashes. “I’m glad you came with me today,” she admits, “This year feels less— Absolute, I guess, that she’s gone. I— This is the first year that I haven’t felt like there’s this empty, aching hole in my chest and I— I’m just really glad you’re here.”

Brittany tugs gently on Santana’s hand until she’s falling into Brittany’s body, their thick jackets scratching together as Brittany wraps her free arm around Santana and pulls her into the cradle of her body, the flowers falling somewhere by Santana’s shoulder blade. Santana sighs into the collar of Brittany’s jacket, tightening her own arm around her waist, the fingers of their other hands still hopelessly tangled. “I’m really glad I’m here too,” Brittany whispers into the dampness of Santana’s hair, the snow dusted waves cold against her chin even though her chest burns with a gentle warmth.

Santana sighs again as she finally draws back, tightening her grip on Brittany’s hand, as if Brittany would ever actually let go of her. “Come on,” she prompts gently as she leads them to the gate, “Let’s go see her.”


	15. jumpers and cinnamon and glittery trees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana kinda loves her friends; Brittany is always really warm.

Santana’s alarm goes off at seven and startles her awake, which is weird because she doesn’t actually remember falling asleep. She rolls over and manages to snatch her phone off the bedside table to silence the annoying blaring. Her blinds are drawn but the hint of sunrise starting to creep over the city casts slivers of pale light across her comforter, and in the dim she can just catch the flash of the glass covering the picture she keeps on her bedside table. But she doesn’t actually need light to see it anymore; her mom as she always tries to remember her, young and full of life as she hugs a giggling Santana from behind, a homemade birthday cake with a big number seven candle lit in front of them. 

None of the pictures around Santana’s apartment are from those last few months, when her mom was pale and frail and small, because that’s not how she wants to remember her. She doesn’t want to remember that awful hospital room, she wants to remember her mom’s laughter as she relentlessly teased her daughter, the exact scent of the perfume she wore for as long as Santana can remember, the way her arms were the warmest and safest place in the world, her apartment cluttered with too many pictures of Santana and old Mother’s Day cards and finger paintings; Santana wants to remember her as she lived, bright and warm and full of life and love.

A dull ache throbs deep in her chest, something inescapably empty and unmistakably missing, but it doesn’t flare into that all-consuming, unbearably sharp pain like it has every year before, and she marvels at the soft ache for a second, because she’s pretty sure she might actually be healing.

Her second alarm goes off and jolts her a little as she quickly fumbles for her forgotten phone as it blares almost right in her ear, her screen not registering her touch for a second until she’s definitely wide awake and her room is blissfully quiet again. She sighs and manages to push herself out of bed with only minor grumbling. It’s a two-show day, and she knows that means it’s going to be far too long before she’s able to crawl back into her bed, so she stumbles to the bathroom, only pausing in the hallway to push the thermostat up because it’s freezing now that she’s not under too many layers of blankets. 

She brushes her teeth while she runs the shower even though she knows its kind of wasteful, but she needs to be able to feel her toes again so she soaks up the steam curling around the bathroom like a cat in a sunbeam.

Her phone buzzes a couple times while she showers, and she quickly peeks out from the shower curtain to squint at it through the steam, hoping that she didn’t put it precariously close to the edge like she has so many times before, not wanting to risk it vibrating off the counter again. It seems to be safe so she just shrugs and ignores it until she’s dressed and her hair is dried and pulled back into a ponytail; it’s far too cold to do anything to delay getting into warm clothes, so her messages can wait.

She has a couple texts from Tina and Mike that she absently reads as she makes a coffee; they never bother her on the fourteenth but always check in on her as soon as humanly possible the very next day. She rolls her eyes fondly as she reads the texts, because their timestamps are exactly four minutes apart, and she’s absolutely certain that they composed them together and anxiously waited exactly four minutes between sending them so it wasn’t obvious that they were sent together, even if it’s really obvious anyways. She quickly responds to them and can’t imagine having better friends than she does.

She also has a text from Brittany, and she has to squash down the curling warmth in her chest so she doesn’t spontaneously combust or something. 

_Mercedes is trying to force me to agree to a xmas tree_ , Brittany’s message reads, and Santana can almost hear the whine in her voice, _Make her stop I wanna be a humbug_.

Santana laughs and shakes her head a little as takes her coffee and settles onto the slightly wobbly stool at her kitchen island. _We should really talk to kurt about those grinch costumes._

_Lol I still don’t think that will shut her up tho_ , Brittany responds, _I’m pretty sure she’s about to pull a vote card_.

Santana grins at her phone, her coffee already long forgotten. _Veto?_

_Whoops yeah that lol_ , Santana barely has time to read the message before Brittany is sending another, almost immediately on the heels of her first one, _How are you today?_

Santana tips her head to the side and deliberates for a while. It still aches, and she doesn’t think it will ever stop aching completely, but she feels more settled than she did last year, at least, and that’s definitely something. She knows she’s always going to miss her mom, but it feels less like there’s something gone and more like there’s something with her now; talking about all the good things she remembers about her mom instead of lingering on the loneliness makes it feel like her mom is with her again, and she imagines that today won’t be as hard as the past four years have been. She’s making progress, she thinks, and she’s pretty sure that’s all she can really hope for.

_I’m good_ , she answers, and for the first time in a long time it doesn’t really feel like a lie, _Actually good I think_.

_I’m glad_ , Brittany texts, and the heart emojis that follow makes Santana’s chest spasm.

_Thanks_ , Santana responds, and she tries desperately to retain her cool, _Also you should totally get Mercedes to spring for a grinch tree._

_God if she sees this I’ll never hear the end of it_. Santana snorts a small laugh and shakes her head, belatedly remembering her coffee and taking a long drink of it, finding it more lukewarm than hot. _Do you want a ride today btw?_

Santana glances outside for the first time all day and is shocked to find that it’s snowing again, far more heavily than it was yesterday. She shivers just thinking about the walk to the Subway and quickly sends her thanks to whoever or whatever might be listening that she has friends who own cars and are willing to pay a ridiculous amount of money for parking spaces and gas and insurance in order to keep them. _I’d love one thanks_.

_Cool 8:15 good?_

Santana agrees and quickly finishes off the rest of her coffee, rummaging through her cupboard until she finds a granola bar that isn’t actually rock hard, eating that and hoping it will tide her over until their short lunch break.

It’s already almost _8:15_ by the time she shrugs her coat on, shoving her feet into her sneakers and hoping she’ll make it through the snow easily enough with them. Her superintendent is even less of a morning person than Santana is, and he rarely has the stairs and surrounding sidewalk shovelled before nine when it snows, but she refuses to wear her boots and change into her sneakers at the theatre just on principle; she’s had to pay for her own stubbornness many times before, but she doesn’t care, someone has to be the most stubborn person around and it might as well be her.

She lounges around in the lobby, shivering as one of her neighbours returns from a morning jog, wearing only a thin sweater and a fuzzy headband to save them from the cold, and Santana contemplates their insanity as a bitter swirl of wind howls around the lobby and chills her to the bone. 

She’s so distracted watching her mostly frozen and obviously crazy neighbour stumble up the stairs that she doesn’t realize Brittany is already here until a tapping on the window makes her jump. She snaps her gaze back to the front entrance and finds Brittany huddled up so close to the door that her breath paints lopsided circles of fog on it, her usual knitted hat pulled even lower than usual to ward off the cold. 

Santana grins and quickly crosses the lobby, hissing as soon as she feels the full force of the wind on her bare face. “I hope you wore thermal socks today,” Brittany greets, “Because I’d lend you mine but I need them too.”

“Rude,” Santana teases breathlessly. Brittany’s cheeks are pink and raw just from the short walk from Mercedes’ car parked half a block away, snowflakes caught in her eyelashes, her blue eyes sparkling in the pale winter sun, and Santana’s pretty sure she’s never going to see anything more beautiful.

Brittany just grins, completely oblivious to the way Santana kind of can’t breathe in the face of her effortless beauty, and chivalrously offers Santana her arm. Santana instantly accepts, looping her arm through Brittany’s until their elbows lock together and their bodies are drawn flush to each other. “It’s really slippery,” Brittany warns, her breath fanning across Santana’s face, lips almost brushing her cheek, and suddenly Santana’s not so cold anymore, even as her mind more or less goes completely blank. “And since you’re only wearing sneakers, weirdo,” she teases, “Someone’s gotta make sure you don’t fall.”

“I’m pretty sure I already have,” Santana blurts without thinking, and instantly every single atom in her body locks up, a cold chill racing through her blood, and she desperately hopes that Brittany very suddenly went deaf. She risks a glance at Brittany to find her already staring at her, but instead of looking horrified or disgusted or every other awful emotion Santana’s mind has already summoned in the last couple seconds, she’s staring at Santana with something so soft that Santana’s pretty sure her soul starts to tremble under the weight of those blue eyes. “I— Um,” Santana manages, but Brittany just shakes her head softly.

“I’d kiss you if we weren’t already running late,” Brittany admits quietly, and Santana gasps and her eyes catch in the deepest groove of Brittany’s and she tries to remember how to breathe properly.

“I— Uh— I—” She’s pretty sure she’s a blushing mess, and at least her heart remembers to beat on its own because her brain is more or less a completely useless pile of mush at the moment.

Brittany takes pity on her, even as her cheeks flush pink with something other than the cold, and she tugs gently on their locked elbows. “C’mon, before Mercedes leaves us to fend for ourselves,” she says conversationally, but her voice has dropped lower than usual and she’s breathless and bashful and beautiful and Santana’s still trying to breathe properly.

Santana nods dumbly, unable to function as she struggles to collect literally any of her scattered thoughts. Brittany leads her carefully down the stairs and they retrace her footsteps, where the snow is a little beaten down and less likely to get into Santana’s sneakers. Brittany opens the back door with a small bow, and Santana giggles a little and swats at Brittany as she passes, fairly certain that Brittany’s trying her hardest to make sure Santana doesn’t ever regain her thoughts or her breath.

“Hey, Satan,” Mercedes greets as Brittany gently shuts Santana’s door before jogging around the back of the car, the bags covering the passenger seat forcing Brittany to sit in the back with Santana.

“Wheezy,” Santana says patronizingly, her half of the dumb nicknames that came up when they battled on _Dance Dance Revolution_ on Monday, and there’s a beat of silence before they both grin and try to hide it.

Brittany yanks the door open and almost slips on the road, her arms windmilling for a split second until she catches herself and tumbles into the car. Mercedes snorts and shakes her head. “Ladies and gentlemen, a principal dancer for _The Nutcracker_ ,” she teases. Brittany just blows a raspberry at Mercedes as she carelessly rearranges her limbs until she can pull the door closed behind her without squishing her precious ankles. “Your sister texted by the way,” Mercedes adds, passing Brittany’s phone back to her, waiting until everyone’s buckled in and settled before carefully pulling out onto the street. 

Brittany gets lost in her phone for a moment, and Santana busies herself with mentally running through a list of everything she has to do today, again wondering if she’ll actually be able to eat at some point, when she registers the radio being turned down and Mercedes’ eyes on her in the rearview mirror.

“How are you today?” Mercedes asks quietly, and something in her voice makes Santana automatically bristle as her gaze darts to Brittany. She doesn’t even have a chance to feel the first prick of betrayal or hurt when Mercedes’ eyes crease with a small smile in the rearview mirror. “Brittany just said you had a bad day yesterday,” Mercedes explains, and Santana relaxes, feeling guilt claw at her stomach instead. 

Something brushes her hand on the seat, and her gaze drops down to find Brittany’s fingers curling around her own; she wears an understanding smile when Santana gathers enough courage to meet her eyes, and it just makes her feel worse for jumping to the wrong conclusion.

“Don’t beat yourself up,” Brittany whispers, low enough that, despite the small space of the car, Mercedes won’t hear her over the radio, “It’s okay.”

Santana breathes out a small sigh of relief but still feels a little guilty even as Brittany’s fingers slip between hers and tangle them tightly together, her thumb rubbing soothing circles over Santana’s pinky. “I’m better than I was yesterday,” she finally answers honestly.

“That’s good!” Mercedes says as she changes lanes. 

“Yeah,” Santana agrees, shrugging a little as she glances at Brittany. “I have really good people in my life,” she says simply.

Even only being able to see about half of Brittany’s face, it’s impossible to miss the blush that paints her skin in splotches of pink, and Santana smiles as she glances back out her window, missing the knowing look Mercedes shoots her in the rearview mirror as she glances between her two passengers.

* * *

Mike catches her just as she’s reaching the stage manager’s office to drop off her coat, a small smile on his face and something hidden behind his back. “Hey,” he says as he catches up, “How are you today, really?”

Santana smiles as she leads them the rest of the way down the hallway. Neither Quinn or Artie or Zizes are in yet, so she has to unlock the door. “Honesty?” she asks as she digs her keys out of her pocket, “Better.” Mike smiles and takes her word for it as he follows her into the office.

“That’s good,” he says quietly, “That’s really, really good.”

Santana hums in agreement as unzips her jacket and shrugs it off. 

“How are Roderick and Rupert?”

Santana smiles and drapes her jacket over the chair. “Roderick’s good, but his dad was stuck in a meeting so I didn’t actually see him.”

Mike nods carefully until his lips quirk up in a sympathetic smile. “And the cemetery?”

“Cold,” Santana shrugs, “Like usual. Brittany bought flowers for my mom so there’s actually a little bit of life—”

“ _Brittany_?” Mike gasps, unable to stop his outburst. “Brittany went with you?”

Santana tries to shrug nonchalantly but heat is already crawling in her cheeks and Mike definitely knows her too well and definitely knows she’s blushing as she ducks her head. “Yeah, she did,” Santana says haughtily. 

“ _Brittany_ went with you?” Mike clarifies, and Santana’s pretty sure if his eyes go any bigger they might just fall out.

“As friendly support!” Santana protests. 

Mike just eyes her, so smugly that Santana’s cheeks start burning even more until she thinks she might burst into flames, “Mmhmm.”

“Oh, shut up,” she grumbles, shoving at his shoulder but unable to actually move him more than a centimetre. Santana rolls her eyes before she grows small for a moment, offering Mike a tiny smile. “It was therapeutic, I guess,” she admits quietly. “I mean, you and Tina knew my mom and I love that, but it was kinda nice to tell someone everything about her again.”

Mike softens and subtly places whatever he’s been holding behind his back down on the desk before tugging Santana into a tight hug, pressing a warm kiss to her forehead as she falls against his shoulder. Santana and Mike are both only children, both estranged from the fathers for too many years to count and raised more or less only by their moms, and Santana’s pretty sure Mike’s the best brother anyone could ever ask for. “It’s nice to see you happy again,” he whispers against her hair, and Santana just makes a small sound of acknowledgement and nuzzles closer for a moment. 

Santana sighs as she finally draws back, shaking herself out of her emotions and back into being a stage manager. “Now,” she says, turning stern eyes on him, “You better tell me what you’ve been hiding before I write you up for being late to rehearsals.”

Mike just laughs because he knows Santana would never write him up even if he _was_ late for rehearsals. He blocks Santana’s view with his body as he grabs whatever’s on the desk, turning around and offering it to Santana with an overdramatic bow. 

It’s a cup of hot chocolate, the whipped cream piled high and sprinkled with cinnamon, just like how her mom used to make it, and Santana smiles softly. No matter how many times Mike brings her this exact drink, on her mom’s birthday and the anniversary of her death and any other time he senses that she’s struggling, it never fails to amaze her how well he remembers all the little things.

“Thank you,” she whispers, just like always.

“Any time,” he answers, just like always.

* * *

The break between shows has Santana’s stomach grumbling loudly, upset at only having time to shove another granola bar in her mouth during the lunch break to tide her stomach over, but armed with a text message from Brittany to meet her in her dressing room, she’s pretty sure that she won’t be hungry for much longer.

The door’s open so she nudges her way in, finding Brittany sitting against the couch with her legs stretched out straight under the coffee table and a spread of food before her. “Hi,” she chips happily. 

Santana grins and kicks off her shoes by the door, quickly pushing it shut behind her. “You’re honestly the best person in the entire world and quite possibly the history of the entire world too,” Santana rambles as she crosses the dressing room, dropping down beside Brittany so their legs and hips press together, not even hiding the fact that she pretty much always wants Brittany to be as close to her as possible.

“After intermission I figured you didn’t really eat today,” Brittany laughs.

Santana can’t even find it in her to blush at the reminder of her stomach growling loud enough to startle Brittany when they chatted for a couple seconds as their paths crossed backstage. She just grins and presses a little closer to Brittany she dishes up their food, joking with each other and sitting in comfortable silence in equal parts as they eat. Santana finishes first and takes a gulp of the drink Brittany had gotten her, so cold that the glass is still covered in an icy layer of condensation, while Brittany narrates the time she had to rescue her sister from her very first date with some pimply fourteen year old by calling and pretending to be their mother, to absolutely no one’s believability.

Now that her grumbling stomach has been sated, Santana becomes aware of how cold she is; with the bitter winter wind outside and the fact that the theatre is about a bajillion years old with barely working heating and her cold drink, its far colder than it usually ever is, and Santana forgot to detour to grab her sweater from the stage manager’s office before coming to Brittany’s dressing room, leaving her only in a thin t-shirt.

Santana tries to hide the shivers that start wracking her body, but pressed so close to Brittany it only takes a couple seconds before Brittany is clicking her tongue in disapproval, wiggling her way out of her sweater and tugging it over Santana’s head before Santana can do little more than blink.

“Britt?” she mumbles as her head emerges from the collar, blinking at the staticky strands of hair obscuring her vision. Her nose is suddenly filled with the strongest, purest form of Brittany’s sharp coconut-honeysuckle-jasmine scent and it’s making her more than a little dizzy. Brittany just makes a small sound of acknowledgement and guides Santana’s arms through the sleeves before glancing up at Santana, biting her lip as she tenderly brushes Santana’s hair back from her face. 

“We can’t have you freezing,” Brittany whispers, her fingers tickling softly at Santana’s temple. Santana gulps a little and feels something tug low in her stomach, drawing her closer to Brittany, her eyes on thin, pink lips and her mind echoing back Brittany’s words that morning on her apartment’s staircase.

They both jump and their faces draw back when something crashes loudly in the hallway and the moment slips away from them. Santana doesn’t let them blushingly avoid eye contact for long before she just thinks _screw it_ and tugs Brittany’s arm over her shoulders, nuzzling into the warmth she’s always radiating.

Brittany melts into her, her body softening and opening up for Santana, almost as if there’s always been a Santana-shaped hallow in her body, just waiting for her to come along and fill it.

Brittany’s fingers trail down Santana’s now covered arm and draw a violent shiver out of her before she can stop it. Brittany makes a small sound of sympathy and pulls Santana closer to her body, swinging her legs up and over her lap until Santana’s cuddled even closer. 

They don’t say much until their break is drawing to an end, they just enjoy the other’s body against their own, soaking up warmth and affection to ward off the cold.


	16. that the cold would be freezing, the world would be white

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana and Brittany make an ornament together; Brittany asks Santana out on their first date, or at least, their first official one.

Winter has settled deeply into New York and Brittany spends the morning freezing in her apartment despite the fact that, with Mercedes spending last night at Sam’s, she can crank the heat up as high as she wants without Mercedes complaining about their heating bill. Though it’s so cold that she thinks even Mercedes wouldn’t argue with her. The light snow that had dusted the city the past two days had turned into pouring rain overnight, and the streets are filled with brown slush and grumbling pedestrians as they fight against the weight of the gross dampness that clings to the city. Sam had picked Mercedes up from the theatre last night, and Mercedes had left her keys in Brittany’s care with a playful warning to not crash her car—as if she would, she’s a more careful driver than even Mercedes is and they both know it—or, much more likely, spill coffee something in it.

She’s grateful for Mercedes’ car on days like these and, never far from her thoughts, she wonders how Santana’s planning on getting to the theatre; she doesn’t have a car, Brittany knows, and Tina and Mike live pretty far away from her neighbourhood. She only debates it for half a second before she’s texting Santana and asking if she wants to meet for breakfast, partly because it’s another two-show day and she doesn’t want Santana to go without eating again, but mostly because she just wants to spend as much time as possible with Santana.

Santana answers instantly, accepting the offer for breakfast and asking where she wants to meet. 

_It’s a surprise_ , Brittany says with a smiley emoji, _Pick you up in 15?_

_Is Mercedes coming?_ Santana asks, and even through the text she can sense Santana’s slight disappointment. Her and Mercedes get along better than Brittany could ever hope for, but she can’t blame Santana for wanting to have time to themselves.

_Her car is_ , Brittany answers cryptically, _I’m leaving now. See you soon!_

She quickly collects everything that she needs for the day, knowing that she won’t have time to swing back around and pick it up after breakfast, before heading out of her apartment, thankful that the complex has an underground parkade. It doesn’t take long for her to get to Santana’s and, surprisingly, there’s a parking spot almost right in front of the entrance, so she quickly pulls in to it. She grabs her stuff off the passenger seat and takes a deep breath to prepare herself for the rain before slipping out into the cold and darting across the sidewalk. 

She spots Santana in the lobby again, only wearing a thin jacket that doesn’t look very waterproof, and taps on the glass. Santana glances up from her phone and her face blooms in that dimpled smile that makes the butterflies in Brittany’s stomach swoop and flutter all the way down to her toes. Santana quickly crosses the lobby and opens the door, her smile only widening when she sees what’s in Brittany’s hands.

“You know me too well,” she greets.

Brittany grins and shrugs a little. “You’re too stubborn,” she says easily, tossing the scarf over her shoulder so she has both hands available. “You never dress for the weather,” she teases, tenderly reaching up to brush Santana’s hair back behind her ears before tugging the extra hat from the back of her closet over Santana’s head, making sure those adorable tiny ears of hers are fully covered. Santana sighs softly and nuzzles into Brittany’s touch like a cat looking for more scratches, and something deep in Brittany’s chest spasms and trembles. She carefully winds the scarf around Santana’s neck, her hands curling tighter into the ends as she realizes how easily it would be to tug on the scarf and have Santana’s lips upon hers. A strong gust of wind snaps her out of her thoughts as Santana shivers and cold rain sprinkles against Brittany’s back. 

“Where are we going?” Santana asks innocently, completely oblivious to where Brittany’s thoughts just were but curiously studying the blush that Brittany can feel in her cheeks. This woman seriously makes Brittany blush far too easily; Brittany usually delights in making everyone else blush, but Santana seems to have the innate ability to make heat crawl in Brittany’s cheeks just by glancing at her.

“It’s a surprise,” Brittany singsongs.

“Britt,” Santana whines.

Brittany just grins and finally releases the ends of the scarf to wind Santana’s left arm through hers. “Santana,” she teases.

Santana huffs out a breath. “Ugh, fine, don’t tell me,” she says petulantly.

Brittany beams at her and tugs a little on her captured arm, drawing Santana closer to her. “I won’t!” she chirps, and then, “Let’s go!”

Santana shrieks a laugh as Brittany rushes them out into the pelting rain, hurrying to Mercedes’ car and again chivalrously opening Santana’s door like the gentlewoman she is, making sure all limbs are safely tucking inside before shutting the door and hurrying around to her own side. As soon as she’s in, she quickly starts the car and blasts the heat, feeling a little damp but not soaked.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?” Santana asks suspiciously.

Brittany grins as she shoulder checks and pulls out of her parking spot. “Nope,” she answers brightly, popping the _p_. 

Santana playfully groans and falls back against the seat. “You’re the worst,” she complains.

Brittany just grins wider.

* * *

The small café Brittany takes Santana to looks like Christmas threw up all over it, blindingly red and green and gold with mismatched decorations scattered around, messily hung homemade ornaments at knee level and delicately draped garland at eye level.

“Wow,” Santana says as they step through the door, “It looks like a Christmas elf did a hit and run on this place.” 

Brittany grins and nods at the decorations. “The costumers decorate it,” she explains, “You can either bring your own ornaments and decorate or they have stuff to make your own and hang them here.”

Santana considers the café, a smile tugging on her lips. “That’s cool,” she says with such a transparent tough façade that Brittany giggles. 

“C’mon,” she says, tugging on Santana’s jacket near her elbow, “we can’t waste time or we’ll be late.”

There’s a short line before they place their order and Brittany gently elbows Santana out of the way before she can offer to pay. “My treat,” she says with a wink, and Santana flusters, her hands fumbling clumsily together for a moment before she relents. As easily as Santana can make her blush, it’s just as easy for Brittany to fluster Santana in return.

Brittany takes Santana to one of the taller tables, tucked near the back of the café where it’s a little quieter. There’s a pile of craft materials on the table and some instruction sheets that they completely ignore as they paw through the papers and pipe cleaners and googly eyes and popsicle sticks as they wait for their food and drinks. 

“How’d you ever find this place?” Santana marvels as her gaze darts around, absently fiddling with a pipe cleaner, curling it into abstract shapes and completely distracting Brittany with the movement of her fingers. 

Brittany starts when a waitress appears with their order and quickly blinks out of her daze, hoping Santana hasn’t noticed her distraction, but the smirk Santana wears is far too knowing for her own good. She clears her throat a little and thanks the waitress before turning back to Santana and ignoring the burning in her cheeks.

“My parents and sister flew out here for Christmas my first year of college as like a half family vacation and half family Christmas,” she explains. “My sister was, like, ten at the time and I found this place and I thought she’d like it.”

“That’s cute,” Santana says, a smile tugging softly on her lips.

Brittany laughs a little as she remembers the look on her sister’s face when they first walked into the café all those years ago, awed and lit up with the childish excitement for Christmas, the excitement that most adults seem to lose far too soon, a lose Brittany knows all too well. “We spent hours here, and as soon as we left she wanted to know when we were coming back.”

Santana grins. “Aww that’s so nice.”

Brittany bobs her head in agreement as the conversation turns to some of the more impressive—and some of the more amateur—ornaments. Brittany finishes first because Santana’s kind of a slow eater when she’s distracted, and she starts picking out materials for an ornament. Santana watches her with a small smile as she quickly finishes up her food and stacks her plate on Brittany’s before scooting her chair even closer to Brittany’s, the ugly scraping sound it makes against the floor causing both of them to wince and laugh.

“So what are you making?” Santana asks as she reaches for a pipe cleaner, playfully poking Brittany in the cheek with it.

Brittany giggles and swats at the offending material before shyly glancing at Santana. “I thought we could make one together,” she suggests, and the only way to describe Santana’s reaction is that she absolutely _melts_ into Brittany’s side, their shoulders pressed together as she ducks her head forward to meet Brittany’s eyes.

“I’d love to,” she whispers. 

Brittany smiles, her nose scrunching a little as they get lost in each other for a moment, only looking away when their waitress appears out of seemingly nowhere to take their plates. They laugh sheepishly and glance back down to the craft materials as they start to work together on their ornament.

It ends up being both expertly constructed and amateur, Brittany’s crafting expertise from having a sister much younger unable to completely cancel out Santana’s inexperience, but it just makes Brittany love it even more because they made it _together_. The face of the ornament has a crude drawing of a nutcracker soldier and a carefully scripted _2018_ in the brim of his hat, and a _Merry Christmas_ above that.

Santana bursts out laughing as soon as Brittany holds it up for her inspection. “It looks like a two year old drew it,” she manages around her giggles.

Brittany bites down on her own laughter as she studies it. “I love it,” she declares, only succeeding in making Santana laugh harder, “your poor artistic skills and all.”

Santana rolls her eyes, her head bobbing back and forth a little as she grins, dimples deep and glowing. “Come on, you should hang it up high so that atrocity is out of everyone’s sight.” 

Brittany grins, having no intention to hide it from anyone’s view as they find an empty spot on a strand of garland. It ends up closer to Santana’s eye level than to Brittany’s and Santana groans playfully as she realizes that Brittany isn’t going to hide her awful artistic skills from the general public. Brittany takes a step back right into Santana’s space, forcing Santana to curl around Brittany’s shoulder a little to admire the ornament. For basically the first time since she brought her sister here all those years ago, Brittany feels liquid warmth curl through her at the thought that Christmas is less than ten days, and she marvels at the feeling for a moment, having a sneaking suspicion that, despite Santana’s own indifference to the holiday season, she has Santana to thank for that.

“It’s perfect,” Brittany says quietly, “because it’s ours.” Santana’s so close that Brittany can feel the heat of her blush, hot and bright, against her cheek and she tips her face slightly to the side so she’s almost brushing Santana’s skin with her lips as she speaks, “Your poor nutcracker and all.”

Santana sighs a little, her breath sweet and minty from the gum she produced from her pocket after they finished their coffees. “You know,” she says, her voice quiet and warm with soft marvel, “this is my favourite show I’ve ever worked on.”

“I’ve been in this production of _The Nutcracker_ for three years, and I’ve done a bunch of smaller productions for it too,” Brittany whispers, meeting Santana’s gaze, deep and dark and liquid, “But this year is my absolute favourite too.” Santana’s smile could probably power the entire electricity grid of New York City, and again Brittany has to beat down the urge to tug Santana closer and kiss the hell out of her. Instead she sighs and shakes her head a little. “Speaking of the show,” she says, “We’re going to be late if we don’t leave now.”

Santana sighs too and they slowly move back to their table to shrug on their jackets, Santana smiling down at her feet as she tugs her borrowed hat on and winds the scarf around her neck.

Brittany doesn’t even get a chance to offer Santana her arm as they head towards the front of the café, because Santana’s cool hand has already slipped into hers, tangling their fingers tightly together and guiding them to the door.

* * *

They barely have a break on Sundays because of how close together the two shows are, so Brittany only really has time to shove the sandwich Mercedes brings her into her mouth as she leaves the costume department and heads back to her dressing room, hopefully so she can sit for the last thirty minutes of her only break.

She trudges through the theatre, thankful that her mouthfuls of sandwich mean she can just wave her greetings at people instead of being forced to stop and chat for a couple minutes, saving her so much time. All she really wants out of life at this moment is a catnap and a good stretch before she has to do it all over again.

She finishes off her last bite of sandwich just as she reaches her dressing room, tiredly pushing open the door and pausing in the doorway, the light from the hallway and her dressing room bathroom illuminating the sight the greets her. 

Santana is curled up on the couch, her hair cascading in a dark wave over the arm where her head is awkwardly resting on, her back steadily rising and falling as she sleeps. Brittany melts as she watches her, the way her nose twitches little, the slight clenching of her fingers where they’re curled on the edge of the couch cushion, her tiny little snuffling breaths as she sighs in her sleep. She’s pretty sure Santana’s sleeping form is far more captivating than it has any right to be, and Brittany could probably spend all day just hovering in the doorway and watching her, but a yawn prompts her further into the room. She kicks off her sneakers by Santana’s and shuts the door behind her, digging her phone out of her hoodie pocket and setting an alarm for twenty minutes from now before dropping it on the coffee table.

She contemplates her options for a moment before shrugging and carefully crawling over Santana, draping herself partially over Santana like a blanket. Santana shifts and sniffles a little as Brittany gently manhandles her until her neck isn’t so strained against the arm of the couch, offering up her own arm as Santana’s pillow and not caring the least bit about how numb it will probably be when she wakes up.

Santana sighs and curls back into Brittany, her breathing evening back out as she sinks further into sleep. Brittany nuzzles into her sweet smelling hair and curls her other arm over low over Santana’s waist, falling asleep almost instantly with the scent of citrus and vanilla surrounding her and the sound of Santana’s soft and steady breathing soothing her.

* * *

It’s Santana’s shifting in her arms, not the blaring alarm, that brings Brittany back into consciousness. She mumbles at the movement, soothing as soon as the alarm has stopped screaming and Santana has shifted back and turned into her embrace.

“Britt-Britt,” Santana says softly, her breath and stray strands of her hair tickling at Brittany’s face and causing her nose to wrinkle up. Santana giggles softly and then there’s a warm hand cupping her jaw and a thumb stroking softly across her cheek, causing Brittany’s eyes to flutter open. Santana’s eyes are still sleepy and languid from their nap, and the only thing that Brittany can think of is melting chocolate, warm and gooey and sweet. “Your warmups are starting in ten minutes,” Santana murmurs, “And you should probably stretch again.”

Brittany hums in acknowledgement, content to stay right where she is for the next ten minutes but knowing she probably can’t. “Did you sleep well?” she mumbles.

Santana’s cheeks crease up in a smile that’s all in her eyes and only a little on her lips. “Better than ever,” she answers.

“Me too,” Brittany yawns. Santana shifts a little in her arms, bringing them closer together and Brittany hums until a sudden tingling pain is shooting up her arm and she hisses out a curse. Santana’s eyes grow wide and worried, her hand curving a light tighter around her jaw in question, and Brittany grits her teeth and shakes her head a little before Santana can give voice to her concern. “I’m fine,” she gasps out, “Just pins and needles.”

Santana’s eyes clear but worry still furrows her brow. “Do you want me to move?”

Brittany can’t really think of anything, let alone whether or not that would help, but thankfully Santana seems to realize this and slowly moves her head off Brittany’s arm, propping herself up on her elbow before helping Brittany stretch her arm out until the pins and needles are less painful prickling and more soft tingling.

Once Brittany can move her fingers again without wanting to scream, Santana manoeuvres herself into a sitting position before helping Brittany up too.

“Sorry,” Brittany mumbles, cursing herself for ruining her plan to convince Santana to cuddle with her for their remaining ten minutes.

Santana shakes her head with a small smile. “I mean, it was kinda my fault, repurposing your arm as a pillow and all.”

Brittany pouts at Santana. “You big meanie,” she whines, causing Santana to just giggle until Brittany’s lips tug up into a lopsided grin.

Santana boops her playfully on the nose with a wide grin before sighing and standing. “I really gotta get back. Who knows what’s fallen apart during about my only break all day. And thanks for not kicking me out,” she adds, ducking her head down as she flusters a little, “I needed a place for a nap and Tina and Mike were both having supper with their understudies so, you know, thanks for letting me sleep here unannounced, and for being my pillow and blanket and all.”

“Any time,” Brittany promises, because there’s pretty much nothing Brittany wants more than to continue to be Santana’s pillow and blanket sometime in the near future.

Santana smiles down at her toes, more to herself than anything. “Anyways,” she says, and her voice is breathless and dreamy and basically Brittany’s favourite sound in the entire world, “I’m doing notes tonight so I’ll see you then?”

Brittany nods and smiles as Santana backs towards the door. “See you.”

“Cool,” Santana pauses at the door and slips her sneakers on, pulling her hair back into a ponytail with the band on her wrist before giving Brittany another smile. “Good luck tonight, not that you need it,” she says as she opens the door, casting the room a little brighter with the hallway light adding to the thin rectangle of gold falling across the carpet from the dressing room bathroom.

“Hey,” Brittany calls suddenly and Santana pauses in the doorway. Curious brown eyes meet hers and Brittany takes a steadying breath as she gathers every last ounce of courage hidden away in her body. “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

Santana’s lips twitch in a small smile as she slowly shakes her head.

Brittany takes another deep breath and smiles at Santana, unable to control the fluttering of nerves coursing through her body even though she thinks she already knows the answer to her coming question. “Would you like to go out on a date with me then?” she blurts all in a rush, her words squishing together and reflecting the jittery feeling fluttering in her stomach.

Santana’s smile grows until Brittany thinks it might never fade ever again. “A _date_ date?” she clarifies.

Brittany swallows and manages a nod.

Santana’s smile never wavers, and her eyes almost sparkle in the dim light. “Just you and me?”

Brittany manages another nod and a small smile.

“Well, in that case,” she drawls, giving an overdramatic pause before her smile and her eyes and her expression and her _everything_ completely softens. “I would love to, Britt,” she murmurs, her voice easily carrying across the dressing room despite its volume. 

Brittany sucks in a large breath of relief and beams at Santana, belatedly wondering why she was even nervous in the first place. “Awesome,” she says breathlessly, “I’ll pick you up around four?”

Santana nods eagerly, her cheeks dimpled and plump and Brittany kind of wants to race across the dressing room and kiss them. “It’s a date,” she says, and she sounds almost as giddy as Brittany feels.

They just keep staring at each other until Santana manages to snap herself out of their daze and gesture vaguely over her shoulder. “I’ve— Uh, gotta, you know— Work and stuff,” she manages. Brittany nods and waves a little as Santana shoots her one more heart-melting smile before tugging the door closed behind her. 

Brittany flops back on the couch and grins unabashedly up at the ceiling, barely able to contain her excitement. “Score,” she whispers to herself.


	17. the idea of christmas somewhere became dumb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany takes Santana on what is probably the best date in the history of dates; Santana feels like she understands Brittany even better than before.

Santana’s glad she slept in until almost eleven because the entire day is completely dragging by, every single second lasting, by Santana’s humble estimate, about a bajillion minutes. She’s been dressed—warmly, by Brittany’s instructions last night after notes—and ready to go for over an hour already, and she still as another hour to wait.

So she fiddles around on her laptop, going through all of the Christmas themed promotion emails she’s gotten over the last couple weeks because she has nothing better to do, mindlessly clicking though them and skimming the text before deleting them, which only wastes about five minutes despite the fact that there’s over a hundred of them. She checks her bank accounts and moves some money around, paying off a couple bills and her credit card and resolutely avoiding looking at the sum sitting in her second savings account. She sighs and shoves her laptop off her lap, slouching down on the couch and playing whatever dumb games on her phone that manage to hold her attention for longer than two minutes. 

It seems like forever before her phone finally displays _3:40_ and she figures that its finally a decent enough time for her to head down to the lobby and lounge around there while she waits instead of staring blankly at her apartment walls. She gives herself one more once over in the mirror, tucking her hair back behind her ears and tugging the hat Brittany lent her yesterday over her head, carefully dabbing at her lipstick to make sure there’s no smudges before she heads to her front door. She collects her keys and wallet, shrugs on her jacket, and winds Brittany’s scarf around her neck before leaving her apartment.

She waits as impatiently in the lobby as she did upstairs, and it doesn’t take very long for her to spot Brittany starting up the stairs, and then she’s opening the door before Brittany even reaches it, grinning at Brittany and feeling something bright and giddy surge through her chest at Brittany’s returning smile. 

“Hi,” she says breathlessly.

“Hey,” Brittany greets, immediately reaching for Santana’s hand and tugging her down the stairs. “We gotta hurry so we don’t hit the long lines,” she explains over her shoulder.

Santana just grins and lets Brittany pull her along, their fingers tangled tightly together and her heart lighter than it’s been possibly ever.

* * *

It stopped raining sometime yesterday while they were in the theatre, but the city is still covered in a veil of grey across the skyline, the weak winter sun casting Brittany’s hair in various shades of blonde through the filtered light, spun like pale gold.

“I can’t believe you even thought of this,” Santana marvels, staring in awe up at the giant tree, sparkling in green and red, soaring high above the ice rink.

“I can’t believe you’ve lived in Manhattan for like a decade and you _haven’t_ done this,” Brittany grins, finishing tying up her skates.

Santana smiles shyly and ducks her head a little. “I was never very good at skating,” she admits quietly.

Brittany softens and reaches for her hands, tangling their fingers together and tugging Santana up off the bench, steadying her easily. “Well, luckily for you,” she says softly, “You have me now.” Santana’s breath hitches high in her throat, and Brittany’s eyes light up at the sound. “Now c’mon,” Brittany whispers, slowly backing them towards the entrance to the actual rink, “It’s just like dancing.”

“Yeah, with knives strapped to your feet,” Santana teases, her voice still high and breathless, her stomach swooping with Brittany’s smile and her own concern that she’s going to fall flat on her ass as soon as she’s actually on the rink. Brittany giggles stepping backwards onto the ice and gliding easily as Santana shakily follows her, falling straight into Brittany’s arms. “Awesome,” she deadpans into Brittany’s chest, “I feel like Bambi.”

Brittany giggles again and carefully draws Santana back upright. “Well you do have the big brown doe eyes and spindly legs down.”

Santana gasps, a smile she’s unable to hide tugging at her lips. “You take that back,” she threatens, swatting at Brittany’s stomach but almost falling on her face instead. 

Brittany grins and quickly shifts her hold on Santana, wrapping one arm around the small of her back, her fingers curling close to her hip, and using her other hand to clasp Santana’s hand in hers. “It’s just like roller skating,” she soothes.

“I suck at roller skating,” Santana pouts, and before she has time to do much more than that, Brittany’s lips are on her cheek, lingering there and settling her body on fire even as it soothes her nerves. She sucks in a sharp breath and smiles down at her skates.

“Baby steps, then,” Brittany whispers as she draws back. 

Santana smiles up at Brittany, biting down on her lip as her eyes drop from Brittany’s to pink lips before meeting blue again. “Okay,” she breathes.

Brittany beams at her but her blue eyes remain soft and warm. “Okay,” she repeats, ushering them away from the wall and into the flow of people skating following the shape of the rink.

Santana doesn’t really catch on quickly per se, but she feels a little less shaky as each moment passes where she doesn’t fall flat on her ass, Brittany’s impeccable balance and strong arm around her waist keeping them both steady as they slowly make their way around the rink. She sinks into Brittany’s lead and lets her guide them, her tiny shuffling pushes slowing Brittany’s smooth gliding but neither of them really noticing, the loud chatter around them fading away as they get lost in their conversation, barely aware that anyone else is even in the rink.

“Okay but it was— Uh, that one song with like. Um—”

“I’m going to need a little more than _um_ to go on,” Santana teases.

Brittany rolls her eyes and adjusts her hold on Santana, tugging them as close as she can without risking their skates colliding and sending them tumbling to the ice; by now, Santana’s even able to lift her feet off the ice a little as she skates shakily beside Brittany. “It was a popular song like forever ago,” she offers, “Sometime between the sixties and the nineties.” 

Santana stares at Brittany for a long moment, a grin tugging at her lips. “You can remember the entirety of the Riemann Hypothesis that you looked up in high school ‘cause you were bored,” Santana says incredulously, “including the old boring mathematicians who’ve debated it, but not what you and your sister danced and sang to at your parents’ fifteenth?”

Brittany laughs as she guides them around the curve in the rink. “What can I say? My memory is selective,” she grins, “The name’s like— Like the robot lady in iPhones.”

“Siri?”

“Yeah her, but not her, you know?”

Santana giggles and turns her head to press her cheek against the cool fabric of Brittany’s jacket covered shoulder. “So it’s Siri but not Siri? And it’s from sometime between the sixties and the nineties? And it was popular?”

Brittany tips her head to the side to think for a second. “That about covers it.”

“Brittany!” Santana shrieks around her laughter, “That could literally be hundreds of songs!”

Brittany shakes her head and laughs and carefully moves them out of the way of a man expertly spinning circles around everyone else. “It was like, uh— Some of it went like—” she breaks off and hums a little of what she remembers, haltingly and off-key and pretty perfect in Santana’s opinion.

Santana frowns a little before a wide grin spreads across her face. “Okay, Elton John and Kiki Dee ring a bell?” she teases.

Brittany’s face creases thoughtfully. “ _The Lion King_ guy?” she wonders aloud.

“Oh my god, Britt,” Santana laughs, “Yes. _The Lion King_ guy.”

“Hmm,” Brittany considers, “I’m pretty sure I’d definitely remember singing _The Lion King_ to my parents in front of all our friends and family.”

“No, not those songs the—” Santana fumbles for a second in her laughter, and Brittany quickly steadies them so they don’t go down in a heap of limbs and blades. “ _Don’t go breaking my heart_ ,” she sings teasingly, pitching her voice higher at the look on Brittany’s face, “ _I couldn’t if I tried. Oh, honey, if I get restless. Baby you’re not that kind._ ”

Brittany gasps and stares at Santana with wide eyes, her expert gliding that’s been guiding them around the rink slowing until they’re stopped beside the rink boards, right in the curve of the end. Santana laughs a little sheepishly and shrugs. “My mom had really old taste in music and I kind of inherited it,” she explains fondly, “I don’t think we listened to, like, _anything_ past eighty-nine.”

Brittany’s mouth opens and closes for a long moment, long enough that Santana starts to fidget in Brittany’s arms, until Brittany manages to squeak out a surprised and awed, “You can sing?”

Santana shrugs, suddenly a little self-conscious as she glances down at their skates. “I guess?”

“No,” Brittany gasps, unwrapping herself from Santana’s side so she can move in front of her, their hands still tangled to keep Santana upright, “I mean you can _sing_.”

Santana glances up and laughs a little again. “Yeah, I guess.” 

“No like—” Brittany searches for words, her eyes glowing in the dying light of the sun and it makes her feel her heartbeat in her fingertips and that swooping feeling in Santana’s stomach start up again, “Like _your voice sounds like honey_ you-can-sing. Like _I’m pretty sure you should be on some important Hottest Songs Chart_ you-can-sing. Like _I think my heart just restarted_ you-can-sing.”

Santana ducks her head down, feeling fiercely prickling heat crawl all along her neck and into her checks. “Thanks,” she mumbles shyly. It’s been so long since she actually sang in front of anyone, so long since she actually _wanted_ to sing at all, that she kind of thought she had forgotten how to do it, but she supposes it’s not really something that she can ever forget, kind of like riding a bike; though with Brittany’s wonderstruck blue eyes on hers, she kind of forgets the important and innate function of how to breathe properly, so she supposes she can probably forget just about anything.

Brittany tugs gently on their clasped hands, waiting until Santana meets her eyes before smiling softly, her cheeks pinked with something other than the cold. “I love your voice,” she whispers, “Because it’s beautiful and soulful and _you_.” Santana’s breath gets caught in her chest and she only manages to nod dumbly at Brittany. 

Brittany seems to realize that she’s kind of struck Santana speechless, so she gracefully glides back around to Santana’s side and wraps her arm around her waist again, slug a little bit lower than before, and guides them back into the flow of people. Santana’s brain is still not at all functional, but she manages to wind her own arm around Brittany’s back, tucking herself into Brittany’s side and letting Brittany do all the work of gliding them around the rink.

It takes long moments before Santana is able to function again, and Brittany just smiles softly down at her the whole time. As soon as brown eyes meet blue, Brittany beams and guides them into a turn before she asks the question that’s been on her mind. “Why didn’t your pursue singing instead of theatre?” she asks quietly, “Since you have such a beautiful voice and all.”

Santana just flushes deeper as she struggles to find the words— _any_ words at this point would be nice—to explain. “I tried to for like a year right out of high school, like as some pop singer or whatever,” she finally manages, grinning a little at how many times she ended up on the phone with her mom, starting the conversation crying and finishing it laughing every single time, “but a girl’s gotta eat. So between working as a waitress, I just auditioned for literally _anything_ I could and hoped something would eventually stick. Which was how I ended up landing some ensemble position at a community theatre and I fell in love with it, just not really how I expected.” She smiles up at Brittany, not at all surprised to find that Brittany’s attention is rapt on her, blue eyes never wavering from Santana’s face; she’s thankful Brittany is as effortlessly balanced and steady as she is, because she really doesn’t want to slip and fall right now. “I ended up following the stage manager around for most of the show and probably annoyed the hell out of him with all the questions I asked, but as soon as I got home I stayed up like all night researching the job and looking for colleges, and the rest is history,” she shrugs.

“That’s awesome,” Brittany says softly, “I always find it funny how we always end up where we never expected to from the tiniest decision.”

Santana smiles and squeezes her arm around Brittany, her fingers finding her hip and tickling there and, even through her winter jacket, Santana can feel the shiver Brittany tries to suppress. “What about you? Did you always wanna be a dancer, Ms Sugar Plum Fairy?”

Brittany laughs and nods a little. “Ever since I could remember,” she confirms, “My mom didn’t want to push me into some box when I was little so she was wary about putting me in dance. Her cousin is _such_ a dance mom and I think my mom was scared of forcing that upon me,” she laughs. “But I was a pretty persistent three year-old, and so that Christmas they gave my first pair of ballet shoes and signed me up for dance and I absolutely _loved_ it.”

“And then you went on to become the most amazing dancer in the history of ever?” Santana says with a wide smile.

Brittany ducks her head, her cheeks splotched with pink and biting back a smile. “More or less. It was like the only thing that ever really made sense to me, you know? I wasn’t very good at school or anything. I just— I think my brain works differently than most people and school’s not very flexible that way.”

Santana hums her agreement. “They only ever want to turn out one specific type of student,” she agrees quietly.

Brittany nods and smiles a little. “My dad’s brain always worked like mine did, so we were always really close because he could, you know, just _get_ why I was struggling.”

“That’s really sweet,” Santana murmurs, smiling up at Brittany. The sun has continued to sink below the horizon, casting the city in dull twilight, but the ice rink is still lit by the Christmas lights twinkling around the plaza and painting Brittany’s pale skin in gold and red and green. 

Brittany hums and smiles a little, focusing on guiding them around the rink for a moment to avoid the little kids on legs shakier than Santana’s when she first stepped out onto the ice, their little Michelin Man snowsuits turning them into tumbling marshmallows with legs and arms stuck out stiffly like toothpicks, their helmets too heavy and sending their heads bobbing along to some invisible beat.

“Britt,” Santana murmurs, “Can I ask you something?” Brittany smiles at Santana and hums in acknowledgement. “You seem pretty close to your family. And you seem to have fond memories of Christmases when you were a kid, so why don’t you like it?” 

Brittany thinks for a long moment, Santana darting her eyes over Brittany’s face to make sure she didn’t offend her. Brittany doesn’t look defensive or upset, just relaxed and thoughtful. “It’s not really that I don’t like it,” she finally decides, “It’s just like any other time of the year for me. I haven’t really ever gotten into the Christmas spirit since I graduated high school. My family’s all from the west coast, but I knew that New York was where I wanted to be for ballet and I ended up landing a sweet scholarship here. My family’s never been super well off but we managed, and so for my first year of college they all flew out to see me and see the city for the first time, and it was really fun and all but it was kind of the last year I really celebrated Christmas.”

“That was when you brought your sister to that café?” Santana asks with a tiny smile.

Brittany laughs a little and nods, tightening her arm around Santana as the blade of her skate catches on the ice and almost sends them stumbling. “She was _so_ excited to come here. It was the first time she’d seen snow and she didn’t know what to do with it. And we went tree shopping and she was so excited to pick out a tiny little tree for my dorm. Plus she hadn’t seen me in like five months, and we’d never spent more than a couple nights apart since she was born. But—” Brittany hesitates and shrugs a little. Her eyes staring unseeingly across the rink as she gets a little lost. 

“My dad got let go from his job that January,” she finally continues, “and my mom’s salary wasn’t enough to support the three of them and they fell on really hard times. And being a college student and a dancer I barely made enough for myself, and definitely not enough to help them out,” she explains quietly. “They didn’t have the money to fly out here and see me, and I didn’t have the money to fly back home either, so I didn’t see them in person at all for a couple years. And once they kinda got their footing again, tickets around Christmas are just too expensive, and I’d already spent so many Christmases alone by that time.” Brittany offers Santana a small smile; it’s not sad, just wistful and longing. “It’s not really the same to just talk on the phone for an hour when your family is all laughing and eating together at your grandma’s house. So I just kinda stopped celebrating it all together. I still get gifts for my sister and like Mercedes and Sam, but it’s just another normal day for me now.”

Santana’s quiet for a moment, digesting everything and feeling like maybe she understands Brittany just a little bit better now, the love and care she puts into every single performance, the way she casually talks about her family in everyday conversation when Santana herself always thinks too hard about mentioning her family, the way Brittany has so much love to give because she’s been alone for so long. “When was the last time you saw them?” she asks softly.

“We Skype a lot,” Brittany answers instantly, “But in person? I dunno, when I first got hired at the the New York City Ballet maybe? I flew back home for like a week then.”

Santana tightens her arm around Brittany’s waist, bringing her other one around to hug Brittany and nuzzle into her shoulder, not caring that they’ve slowed down to a snail’s pace or that the blades of their skates risk getting caught together now. She’s not really sure what to say, so she just hugs Brittany tightly and softens when Brittany buries her face into Santana’s hair for a moment.

It’s the grumbling of Brittany’s stomach that forces them apart, laughing so hard that they slip and slid until Brittany manages to steady them. “I think that’s our cue to go find supper now,” Santana teases.

Brittany flushes but shrugs nonchalantly. “Maybe,” she agrees skeptically, holding her façade for all of a moment before they’re both laughing again as they cling to each other and glide over to one of the exits. Brittany helps Santana wobble over to a bench, where they sink down and quickly tug their skates off in comfortable silence.

“I’ll take our skates back,” Brittany offers as she stands, “And you look for someplace to eat supper at.”

Santana nods easily and watches Brittany until she’s swallowed up in the crowd before tugging her phone out of her pocket and looking up restaurants around them, but her mind is only half on food options, most of her attention is held by how amazing their date has been already, by how ecstatically happy it makes her to date Brittany, by how much she already wants to go on another date with her, preferably as soon as possible.

She wonders if Brittany is the kind of girl to wait until the end of the date to kiss or to do it right in the middle; on one hand Brittany seems just carefree enough to not worry about things like cliches or traditions, but Brittany’s also gentlewomanly enough to open all her doors and pull out her chair and help her out of her jacket, and waiting until a goodnight kiss sounds plausible too.

She doesn’t care that much though, not really; as long as she gets to kiss Brittany sometime in the near future she’s not particularly worried about the specifics.

* * *

The bistro they end up at is only a couple blocks from Santana’s apartment. Mercedes had dropped Brittany off earlier on her way to go visit an old college friend so Santana and Brittany had just walked to the rink since it wasn’t very far from her apartment and, despite the sky being overcast and dreary grey, it was only just a little chilly out. The bistro is tucked behind a small plaza for Christmas trees and Brittany grins as they pass it, the sharp scent of the woods and dirt and green and life surrounding them. “Mercedes never did win her argument for a Christmas tree,” Brittany says, “But I kinda wanna surprise her with one now, just to be annoyingly smug about it.”

Santana giggles and rests her head against Brittany’s shoulder as they slow their walk to admire the perfectly trimmed trees. “You’re evil,” she teases.

Brittany just grins and shrugs as they continue on their way. “By the way, I’m paying for supper,” she declares.

“What! No way, Britt, you paid for skating and I—”

“No arguing,” Brittany interrupts with a sly grin, “I planned the date, I get to pay.”

“Ugh,” Santana groans, as if she’s not incredibly charmed by Brittany’s _everything_ all the time, though judging by the smirk on Brittany’s face she’s well aware of Santana’s true feelings, “You’re the worst.”

“You love it,” Brittany singsongs.

Santana just shakes her head, biting down on her smile and studying her feet as they approach the bistro; Santana’s pretty sure Brittany has no clue just how true that statement is.

* * *

They get hot chocolates to go—ones that Santana _insists_ on paying for, plying Brittany with pouts until she finally sighs, obviously charmed, and relents—and shuffle slowly back to Santana’s apartment, keeping each other warm in the night’s chill by pressing as close to each other as they can. Santana’s _dreading_ the approaching end of their date as they inch closer and closer to her apartment; Mercedes is already driving back from visiting her friend, just on time to swing by and pick Brittany up on her way past.

As soon as her apartment comes into view, both her and Brittany sigh and then glance at each other, smiling shyly as they shuffle up to her apartment, both of them pausing and hovering at the bottom of the stairs that lead up to the entrance. They reluctantly untangle, which doesn’t really do much because as soon as she can Brittany grabs both of Santana’s hands and laces their fingers together. Santana’s eyes drop down to their hands and she studies the tangle of their fingers, admiring how perfect and right it feels to hold Brittany’s hands, how at home she feels for the first time in what feels like forever.

When she meets blue eyes again, they’re dark and warm and adoring, and Brittany’s face is so much closer than Santana thought it was. She sucks in a sharp breath, her gaze darting down to thin lips before quickly meeting Brittany’s eyes again. Something in her stomach flips at the realization that this is it, this is what she’s been waiting for since at least last Monday or since she met Brittany or since her mom died or possibly her whole entire life.

Her heart pounds all the way down to where her fingertips press to Brittany’s hands, holding her breath as Brittany’s face draws closer to hers, blue eyes darting all over her face before they settle in the deepest groove of Santana’s and she thinks maybe Brittany’s seeing her soul, because they grow impossibly soft right before they flutter closed and her chocolatey breath fans across Santana’s face. 

Santana takes a steadying breath, the heady rush of Brittany’s body against hers and her hands in hers and her breath on hers and her lips—

There’s a screeching of tires and shouts on the street, followed by the loud quick whirl of sirens and a commotion as drivers frantically try to pull out of the way of a speeding sports car and its trail of police cars racing down the street. Brittany jumps at the chaos behind her and Santana turns her head in surprise, Brittany’s kiss landing sloppily on the corner of Santana’s mouth and chin, making her skin tingle brightly with yearning at Brittany’s breath on her face, at how close Brittany’s lips are to her own, at how _perfect_ Brittany feels pressed against her even as a slight ache of disappointment snakes through her chest.

They both groan as Brittany pulls back, her eyes bright and hazy and a little confused as they glance towards the street in a daze, the commotion already long gone and Mercedes’ car just pulling into a parking spot.

“Really?” Santana grumbles, “This is like the sleepiest street in Manhattan and just when— Ugh.”

Brittany smiles at Santana’s grumpiness, running her thumbs over Santana’s hands until Santana soothes and softens. “Sorry,” Brittany whispers.

“It’s not your fault,” Santana murmurs quickly, knowing the moment’s pretty much gone and desperately wishing she had a time machine. Mercedes’ car is more or less right behind them, and Santana really doesn’t feel like kissing Brittany for the first time while one of the people who Santana is technically the boss of—even if she’s more like a friend now—is watching them intently from a sidewalk’s length away.

Brittany shrugs a little. “Still,” she mumbles, squeezing Santana’s hands and carefully leaning forward to press the softest kiss to Santana’s cheek. “I’ll make it up to you,” she promises against Santana’s skin, and Santana gasps, her hands involuntarily tightening around Brittany’s at the sudden rush of longing that fills her. 

“Okay,” she manages dumbly, trying to blink out of her daze but completely unable to when she’s literally surrounded by pure _Brittany_.

“Okay,” Brittany whispers. She presses one more kiss to Santana’s cheek before slowly pulling away, their hands remaining linked until the last possible second. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Santana manages some form of agreement, and feels the loss acutely when Brittany’s fingers finally slip from hers. 

“Goodnight, Santana,” Brittany calls quietly.

“Goodnight, Brittany,” Santana whispers, waiting until Brittany is in Mercedes’ car and Santana’s knees aren’t so weak that they’ll instantly collapse under her as she turns back to her apartment complex.

She’s really glad that there’s no one else in the lobby or the elevator as she heads up to her apartment, because she knows she’s definitely swooning and she doesn’t want anyone else to see, because this thing between her and Brittany is tender and precious and invaluable and she doesn’t want anyone else prying into it. She sinks against the wall of the elevator and brings a shaking hand up to the corner of her mouth, pressing her fingers there as if she can preserve Brittany’s kiss just by holding it against her skin. The feeling buzzes through her all the way up to her apartment, long after she’s locked up and changed into pjs and brushed her teeth, long after the lights are off and she’s crawled into bed and shut her eyes. 

It’s not until she’s halfway asleep, huddled under her blankets and curled into her pillow, that she jerks awake and suddenly realizes exactly what she wants to do for Brittany for Christmas, all the untouched money she has from her mom’s savings and from her estate, for the very first time, seeming more like a blessing and less like a reminder of what she’s lost.

She hasn’t touched that money since she finally closed out her mom’s estate almost a full year after her death and she shoved it all in a second savings account, refusing to even think about the money because it was just a painful reminder that the only reason it was sitting in her bank account was because her mom was gone. She might never want to use that money for herself, but she suddenly realizes she has no such qualms about using the money for someone else, especially when that someone is Brittany.

She just hopes that the Pierces on the west coast don’t have any unchangeable plans this week.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Btw this chapter is brought to you by how much I miss skating on the lake in my hometown. Oh and also cliches! Who could forget the cliches?


	18. people still dream secretly of a time they used to know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana has a surprise for Brittany; Santana finally gets her chance to fawn over baby Brittany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it’s a little late today, but my schedule is all kinds of wonky with finals lol. I’ll be done this week so it should be back to relatively consistent updates in the morning again soon!

Brittany’s in love with Santana.

That’s what she realizes as soon as she wakes up.

She stares up at the ceiling as she tests the words out in her head, searching out how they feel in her mouth and the weight of them in her heart, and finds that they feel exactly how she thought they would: perfect and right, like dancing or coming home.

She’s loved before, she’s loved so many people; her parents and her sister and Tubbs, her first friend and second friend and third friend, her dance partner and her roommate and her best friend, her first crush and her first boyfriend and her second girlfriend, and even, sometimes, herself. She’s pretty certain she loved all of them, in different ways and to different extents, but she’s also pretty certain that it’s never felt like this before.

She’s never been fluttery and settled, excited and relaxed, warm and bright, like everything she feels is too much and threatens to burst from her every time Santana’s smile is directed her way, but at the same time, like she’s at home for the first time since she moved across the country.

She’s never been in love before.

She tries to pinpoint the exact moment she fell in love with Santana. Yesterday when she almost kissed her; when she found Santana sleeping on her dressing room couch; when Santana took her hand at the gate to the cemetery, before that when she kissed her cheek on the stairs to her apartment, before that when she invited her along; when Santana opened up and told her about her mom; when Santana gave her that cat charm that sits proudly on her keychain; when Santana gave her Freddie’s daisy; when Santana thanked her for standing up for her; when Santana asked about Tubbs, before that when Santana held her as she cried; when Santana sat beside her for brunch; when Santana accepted that tiny figurine with an awed smile.

She wonders if it was back on that first day, when they met for the very first time.

No matter how hard Brittany thinks, she can’t pinpoint the exact moment she fell in love with Santana, no more than she can pinpoint the exact reason she loves her. It was gradual and all at once, the easiest thing in the world and the most unexpected, unmooring her and grounding her in the same exact same second. She’s just—

She’s just in love with the best person in the world.

She doesn’t realize she’s smiling goofily up at the ceiling until her phone chimes and she starts a little. It’s Santana’s text tone, bright and soft, and she rolls over with a widening smile as she reads the text. _I have a surprise for you. Be outside your apartment in an hour?_ There’s a winky face added after and it ties Brittany’s stomach into all kinds of knots. It’s eight now, which means they have plenty of time before they need to be at the theatre for the evening show, even though she has no idea what Santana’s planning or how long it will take, so she quickly responds and crawls out of bed into the freezing cold. 

Mercedes has already left, planning to meet Sam for breakfast and then head to the mall so they can do some final Christmas shopping for Sam’s little brother and sister and Mercedes’ nieces and nephews, so she doesn’t get any of the usual teasing for being up _hours_ before she usually would just because Santana asked her to. She gets ready quickly, tugging her hat on and shoving her feet into her sneakers and heading down to the lobby of the apartment complex long before nine, because they both have a habit of showing up far earlier than planned.

When Santana gets there, she’s still wearing her borrowed hat and scarf and it does funny thing’s to Brittany’s stomach—perfect, amazing, electrifying things. Santana grins, her dimples deep, and waits for Brittany at the bottom of the stairs, not hesitating for a moment before she tangles her fingers with Brittany’s and heads off towards the winter sun slowly making its way across the sky.

“Hi,” Brittany giggles as she’s tugged along.

Santana grins up at Brittany. “Hey,” she greets around her smile. 

Brittany hums and curls closer to Santana, knowing how easily she gets cold, and feels light and bright just being beside her. She thought it might be scary to realize she’s in love; so many people in movies and television shows and books are always scared to fall in love, but she doesn’t feel a hint of fear at the thought, because every time she looks into Santana’s eyes she’s pretty sure she sees everything she could ever want reflected right back at her and that’s, like, the least scary thing in the world.

In fact, it might just be the best feeling in the world.

“I missed you,” Brittany singsongs honestly, smiling when Santana grows flustered just like she hoped.

“You’re cheesy,” Santana chides, but her cheeks are dimpled as she smiles at her toes. Brittany just hums and grins at Santana, her smile only softening when Santana looks up at her with those deep eyes. In the sunlight Santana’s eyes look like pools of honey, or maybe molasses, something slow and dark and sweet, and Brittany’s breath catches. “But I did too,” she says shyly.

Brittany bounces in place a little, tugging Santana along with her, until they’re both breathless and laughing. “Where are we going?”

Santana grins and shrugs, her smug look more adorable than anything. “It’s a surprise,” she teases.

Brittany grins and tugs them along faster even though she has absolutely no idea where she’s going. “I love surprises!”

* * *

Brittany had kind of thought she would regain use of her brain sometime after they reached their destination, but she can only stare wide-eyed at the plaza before glancing wordlessly at Santana, who is smiling at her bashfully.

“You mentioned yesterday that you still kind of wanted to surprise Mercedes,” Santana explains quietly, her smile small but her eyes sparkling, “And, I dunno, I’ve actually been feeling Christmasy for the first time in, like, years, and you seem like you have too, so. But we don’t— I mean, if you don’t want to.”

Brittany shakes her head and finally manages to turn and tug Santana against her, tucking her into the curve of her body and wishing their bulky winter jackets weren’t in the way because it changes the way they fit against each other; it still feels perfect though, to be wrapped up in Santana, like coming home, so it’s a minor complaint. “It’s amazing,” she whispers into Santana’s ear, “ _You’re_ amazing for doing this.”

Santana just sighs and nuzzles closer, her cold nose sneaking past the collar of Brittany’s jacket until it presses to warm skin and, despite the chill, sets all of Brittany’s nerves on fire. “I’m not,” Santana protest softly, “But thank you.”

They remain wrapped up in each other until another couple wanders in the entrance, and they’re forced to untangle. Brittany doesn’t let Santana get too far, wrapping an arm around Santana and settling it against her waist, already used to the position from skating for so long yesterday. She’s still a little bit in shock, warmth curling low in her stomach and ballooning up into her chest until she feels like she might just burst from feeling too much of every happy emotion ever as they examine Christmas trees together. 

“My always abuela refused to let us get a real one,” Santana laughs suddenly, “ _You’ll burn the damn house down those things_ , she always said.” Brittany giggles and curls further towards Santana, unable to get close enough. “Plus the tiny town I grew up in was so small we would’ve had to drive all the way to Columbus to get one anyways.” Brittany grins and they continue to wander the plaza, jokingly pointing out trees that are far too big for Brittany’s apartment and _aww_ -ing over ones barely taller than a foot.

Brittany’s noticed this small change in Santana lately, where she doesn’t involuntarily tense up when she talks about her family anymore, like she did that day they went shopping, or when they ran into each other at the grocery store. Brittany wonders if Santana realizes how far she’s come, how much she’s healed, even just in the last week.

“Do you ever think about reaching out to her?” Brittany asks softly. “Even just, like, calling her to say _hi_ again?”

Santana tips her head to the side a little and stares thoughtfully into the distance as they slow to a shuffling walk, not upset or mad or defensive or anything, just contemplative. “You know I’ve thought about it a lot, especially after my mom died, but she’s caused me so much pain that even if she wanted me back in her life I don’t know if I could ever trust her again, you know?” Santana asks rhetorically. “I mean, of course I want her to love me again, she’s my _abuela_ , she practically raised me because my mom worked so much just to make ends meet. But,” Santana hesitates and shrugs a little, “if she stopped loving me once what would stop her from doing it again? I don’t know if I could handle that a second time, especially now with my mom gone. It might be cowardly but I don’t want to take that risk.” 

Brittany hums in acknowledgement, tightening her arm around Santana’s waist and stroking over Santana’s hip, soothing and soft. “It’s not cowardly to protect yourself,” Brittany says quietly, “You don’t owe her anything just because you’re related, and it wouldn’t be fair to you for you to always be on the offensive with her. I think you should do whatever you feel comfortable doing.” 

Santana beams up at her and looks, for a moment, like she might bounce up on her toes and kiss Brittany, but instead she just exposes her dimples and scrunches her nose as she smiles.

Brittany didn’t know it was even possible, but she’s pretty sure she just fell in love all over again.

* * *

“Mercedes is going to be so surprised,” Brittany pants as they drag the tree down the hallway.

“She better be,” Santana huffs, and then a hint of a whine creeps into her voice, “Britt, how much farther? My arms are falling off.”

Brittany glances over her shoulder, almost stumbling into the wall. “Like,” she counts the distance quickly, “two more doors?”

“Ugh,” Santana groans, adjusting her grip on the base of the tree. It’s a decent sized tree, a little bit on the smaller side but still with full boughs, and though it’s not heavy it’s extremely awkward to carry because of the slight bend to its trunk.

They shuffle and stumble to Brittany and Mercedes’ apartment door, and Brittany fumbles with the keys for a moment before she manages to hip check the door open and trudge in backwards. She awkwardly kicks her sneakers off, waiting until Santana does the same, before they finally make it to the living room and set the tree against the wall. Brittany collapses on the couch, struggling to free the plastic bag of garland and little rainbow lights— _because that tree is about as straight as I am, Santana, we’ll be able to outnumber Mercedes now_ —that they had bought too, Santana insisting on helping to pay for everything because it was her idea in the first place. 

Santana grunts as she peels her borrowed hat off her head, running her fingers through long, dark waves and basically making Brittany swallow her tongue; she looks like something straight from a shampoo commercial and it makes Brittany swoon, just a little bit. “I’m sweaty,” she pouts, and Brittany has to take a steadying breath for a long moment because—

“Winter jackets always end up keeping _too_ much warmth in,” Brittany manages to agree, her voice raspy and unsteady. She clears her throat and is suddenly thankful for the fact that they’re both a little out of breath from lugging that tree back to her apartment. “Water? And ice?” she offers.

“Uh huh,” Santana mumbles to both questions as her jacket gets caught around the watch on her wrist and she struggles to free herself.

Brittany groans as she pushes herself off the couch, divesting herself of her own jacket and dropping it over the back of a stool as she heads to the kitchen to pour two large glasses of ice and water. She gulps down half of hers and refills it before heading back to the living room. Santana’s finally emerged from her jacket, leaving her in a black sweater, one she quickly sheds for her tank top underneath and at the sight of so much smooth skin Brittany wishes she could press the ice cold glasses to her cheeks without being completely obvious and _weird_ about it.

Santana takes the offered water glass with a murmured _thanks_ and takes a long gulp. Brittany sips at her glass and tries to feel less dizzy than she does as she surveys the living room for the best spot to set up the tree. Santana steps up beside her, their bare arms brushing together and Brittany suddenly realizes this is going to be a long morning.

* * *

“Santana can you— I need a little—”

A warm hand steadies her on the small of her back, the other reaching up to catch a corner of the box and help Brittany ease it off the top shelf. 

“Thanks,” Brittany murmurs as Santana helps her step off the chair shoved in the tiny space of her closet; she has no clue why the shelving unit at the top of her closet is like two feet higher than it needs to be. “It’s gotta be this one.”

Santana follows Brittany back to her bed where a small collection of various sized boxes containing knickknacks and awards and clothes and memories spread across the comforter. The newest box is taped shut but Brittany has a good feeling about this one; she picks at the tape with a dull nail until it starts to peel in strips. Santana sinks onto the bed beside Brittany and leans closer, resting her head against Brittany’s shoulder as they both stare at the lid in anticipation, and when the lid peels away Brittany pumps a fist in the air. “Score!” she cheers.

“Why do you have so many?” Santana gasps as she sits up to stare into the box.

“My parents shipped most of my ornaments here,” Brittany explains with a grin, tracing the engraving of a _Baby’s Third Christmas_ ornament. “They felt really bad that first year, especially when we all kind of realized that spending Christmas together wasn’t going to happen anytime soon, so they shipped all this here so I could decorate or whatever. I never did because it never felt like _Christmas_ before, you know?” Santana nods and glances up with a small smile, just staring at Brittany until she laughs a little. “What?”

Santana just shakes her head and keeps smiling at her. “You’re cute, is all,” she explains.

Brittany feels heat crawl along her cheeks and she bites down on a wide smile before glancing back at the box in her lap. “This is the first year it’s felt like Christmas again,” she admits, glancing up at Santana to gauge her reaction.

Santana softens and her body shifts closer towards Brittany’s until there’s no space between them. “For me too, Britt,” she whispers.

Brittany beams and traces her fingers over a family portrait shoved into a tiny gingerbread house frame. She picks up the picture of her family, her sister about two years-old and beaming up at her sister from her lap where Brittany’s squished between their parents. Santana’s gaze traces the picture and Brittany can sense her question before it even forms; everyone always asks it, ever since her dad picked her up from kindergarten one day and she realized, for the first time, that her dad was different.

“Ask it,” Brittany prompts quietly.

“Why does your mom have a perm? This was, like, in the early two-thousands wasn’t it?” Santana asks, and it’s so not what Brittany thought she’d ask that it throws her for a second.

“Huh?” she manages.

“Actually, is this family picture eighties themed?” Santana continues, “Because your dad’s glasses are like _hello, throwback_.”

Brittany giggles a little, still confused but trying to hide it. “Yeah it was. My dad’s really into, like, retro stuff and he managed to convince my mom to do a themed family Christmas picture. You can’t really see it but my side pony’s pretty amazing.”

“Your family’s cute,” Santana says, all dimples and soft eyes and with no hint of judgment and Brittany can’t help but blurt out her question.

“Aren’t you going to ask?”

Santana blinks and glances down at the picture. “What do you—”

“That my dad’s Korean and my sister’s half-Korean and I’m not,” Brittany interrupts, not wanting to hear Santana to say it because— “I mean, everyone always does.”

Santana smiles a little at her like she’s the silliest thing in the world, but it doesn’t make Brittany feel silly, just warm and adored. “So your dad is Korean and you’re not, so what? It doesn’t mean he’s not your dad. I mean, you obviously know that he’s Korean,” she teases softly and Brittany laughs a little because, yeah, that’s true, “So why should I point it out?”

Brittany softens and chews on her lip a little. She should have known that Santana wouldn’t be like everyone else about this, but it’s been this _thing_ her entire life, as soon as she realized that other kids saw her dad as different than her, as soon as she became _that white kid with the Asian dad_. 

“I mean, family isn’t always obvious or blood-related,” Santana continues softly, “My family is all related to me and it’s not like they act like it. Mike and Tina are so much more my family than any of them. Just because you’re not blood-related to him doesn’t mean he’s not your dad, and I have no right to point that out because it’s none of my business.”

Brittany shakes her head and glances away, her chest so filled with light and love that she thinks she might float away. “Thank you,” she mumbles.

Santana ducks her head down until she can catch her eyes. “You don’t have to thank me for not being a nosy asshole,” she says quietly, “But you’re welcome.”

Brittany beams and nods a little, turning back to the box again, needing something to ground her back to reality so she doesn’t burst from loving Santana so much. 

So many memories are contained in this old box; crude star ornaments she made with finger-paint and glitter back in kindergarten, a picture of her on her very first Christmas, crafts she made with her best friend in elementary school, a Barbie ornament from _The Nutcracker_ of all shows, an ornament for Tubbs’ first Christmas, an apple ornament from her sixth grade teacher who only showed her patience and kindness when she struggled more than the other kids, a picture of her and her sister the year her sister was born, a pair of delicate dance slippers that her grandma had delicately cross-stitched.

This box contains so many Christmas memories that Brittany had brushed aside for so long because it was too painful to remember that she was just going to spend another Christmas alone.

Santana’s arm slips around her waist and she rests her chin on Brittany’s shoulder to watch as Brittany pokes through the box. “You know,” she says conversationally, “You’re so wrong.”

Brittany blinks and glances at Santana in confusion. “Huh?”

“When we had brunch at my apartment,” Santana says, and only then does Brittany spot the teasing twinkle in those dark eyes, “When you said I was the cutest baby in the world. You were wrong, because it’s you. You’re the cutest baby in the world, not me.”

Brittany glances down at her first Christmas picture, with a blonde tuft of hair and bright blue eyes and a wide toothless smile. She’ll admit that she was a pretty cute baby, but literally nothing in the world can compare to dimples and chubby cheeks and the tiniest ears ever.

“I think we may have to agree to disagree,” Brittany finally teases.

Santana smothers her giggles against Brittany’s shoulder and it’s basically the best feeling in the entire world.

* * *

They have a quick lunch before finishing decorating the Christmas tree, leaving lots of open spots for Mercedes to hang her own ornaments later. While Brittany disappears into the kitchen to make some hot chocolate for them, Santana draws the blinds and hunts along the walls for light switches until the living room is cast in dull brown light, about as dark as they’re going to get it while the sun’s still up. Brittany quickly puts some water on to boil and tracks down the canister of hot chocolate, expertly measuring out the powdered mix and grabbing the whipped cream from the fridge while she waits for the kettle to start whistling. She’s been making hot chocolate for as long as she can remember, all the way back when her dad still had to lift her up onto the counter so she could actually see what he was doing, and it’s made her a professional of sorts.

The kettle starts hissing and Brittany quickly finishes their hot chocolates before wandering back into the living room. Santana hurries off the couch as soon as she senses Brittany behind her, scurrying across the living room so she can plug the Christmas tree in. Brittany sets their hot chocolates down on the coffee table and follows Santana, wrapping her into an embrace from behind so they can both admire their decorated Christmas tree. “Thank you for this,” Brittany whispers, craning her neck a little to gently kiss Santana on the cheek, almost melting at how Santana softens in her arms despite how hard her heart pounds; Brittany can feel it against her own chest where it presses to Santana’s back. 

Santana takes a deep breath and turns her head a little to smile at Brittany, her hands sliding over Brittany’s arms and lacing with her hands where they press to her stomach. “You’re welcome,” she breathes.

They admire the Christmas tree together, wrapped in each other’s embrace, until Santana murmurs that their hot chocolate is probably getting cold by now and they reluctantly untangle. They don’t part for long, because they end up sharing one couch cushion and the blanket off the back of the couch to keep themselves warm as they cuddle and sip their hot chocolates, waiting for Mercedes to arrive home and see the surprise.

Brittany finishes her hot chocolate first, and smoothly sets her mug on the coffee table beside the arm of the couch, using it as an excuse to drape her arm over Santana’s shoulder, reminiscent of the same move nervous teenage boys do on first dates at the movie theatre, but with far more confidence and charm. Santana giggles and just snuggles closer to Brittany while she finishes her own hot chocolate, not even bothering to hide how delighted she is by the cheesy move.

Mercedes shrieks as soon as she walks in the door, her shopping bags dropping from her hands and thudding quietly on the floor in shock; Brittany’s not sure whether her shock is about the Christmas tree or about Santana and Brittany cuddling under the blanket, but as Mercedes’ best friend and roommate, she’d put good money on it being both.

Mercedes continues to gape at them and the tree until she manages to throw herself across the apartment and tug Brittany up into a tight hug, unbelieving and ecstatic; she just as quickly tugs Santana up for a hug as soon as Brittany clarifies that it was all Santana.

Santana shrugs and tries waves it off as if it’s no big deal, but she softens and hugs Mercedes back tightly anyways and Brittany kind of falls in love with her again.


	19. they say we’ll bring back christmas, we’ll put on a show

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana finally finds a way to put her plan into motion; Mercedes gets suspicious.

With the end of the show creeping up on everyone far too quickly, they have an extra two-show day on Wednesday, which makes Santana’s planning both harder and easier. Harder because she basically has no time eat, let alone try and figure out how in the world she’s supposed to contact Brittany’s parents, but it ends up being easier because she has an opportunity dropped right in her lap. Wednesdays are when they do maintenance on basically every moving part of the show that needs it, leaving Zizes in charge of making sure every mechanical issue that needs addressing is worked out, Quinn leading rehearsals all by herself, Artie dealing with sound who’s having issues like usually, and Santana holed up in the stage manager’s office all alone as she does extra pre-show paperwork, the maintenance ones, her own, and the other managers’.

Marley Rose, one of the dancers who’s in like three corps, calls about two hours before the show and frantically explains that there was a fire in her apartment building last night and that she didn’t have any damage but there’s an investigation and she inhaled smoke and this was the first time she got to a phone and—

Santana quickly calms her down and assures her that it’s okay, she’ll inform the corps leaders about it—which unfortunately means she’ll probably have to talk to that little snowflake bitch again—and to keep Santana updated if she needs the show off tomorrow too.

She absently grabs the binder with all the company’s personal details and flips through it until she finds Marley’s and confirms that all her contact information is up to date before hanging up and groaning as she thinks about dealing with anybody from the snowflake corps; with the exception of Marley and a handful of other dancers, the snowflake corps is basically where all the bitchiest dancers in the company ended up.

She’s about to put the binder away when a thought strikes her and she glances down at the pages below her in surprise. _R_ isn’t all that far away from _P_ , and she already has it open and there’s no one around so—

She _knows_ it’s like a million layers of creepy and inappropriate and also probably grounds for her to get fired, but she ignores the warning bells in her brain and flips to find Brittany’s contact information. She already knows basically everything on the page anyways, but what she really needs is her emergency contact information. Mercedes is the first one, which makes sense since her parents are all the way on the other side of the county, but right below her is one Whitney Pierce with a cell phone number attached that Santana quickly punches into the notes on her phone, adding Pierce Pierce’s number right below it before she shoves her phone back in her pocket and quickly snaps the binder shut and shoves it back in place.

Sure, it’s maybe not the best way to go about this whole idea, but if she can make Brittany happy at the end of it? Well, she doesn’t really care all that much about the stuff in the middle.

* * *

It doesn’t take her long after that to realize that she’s in love with Brittany because how could she not be?

She’s contemplating when she should call Brittany’s parents when the realization strikes and arcs through her chest until it settles low in her stomach and makes something flutter brightly. She’s jittery and frozen in spot, until the ache eases and all that replaces it is liquid warmth, soothing and comforting.

She hadn’t realized how long she had gone without feeling genuinely happy until Brittany showed up in her life, how long she had just been content with her life but not actually happy. She had feared falling in love with anyone more than she feared anything else in the world, fears that only worsened after her mom died, so much so that she went out of her way to avoid going on _any_ dates and generally managed to sabotage the ones she did goe on by being closed off and a little bitchy. Falling in love was too risky, and Santana refused to gamble with something as precious as her own heart, not when she had no mother to turn to and pick up the pieces like she always had before.

But everything about Brittany makes her feel safe. Even after going through her entire life believing that love would never work out for her, that it was pointless and dumb, that she’d never risk her heart and soul for something that’s so fickle, Brittany still makes her feel safe. Her dad left not only her mom but also her, never once even trying to reach out to his only daughter, and almost all of her family left her as soon as she was outed, as soon as her abuela disowned her and threw her out of her house.

And despite all of that lighting up every old ache in her chest, she thinks of her mom, and how her mom was supposed to love her just like everyone else, but how she went beyond that and continued to _choose_ her too, and she thinks maybe that’s it. Even for people who are supposed to love you, it’s the act of _choosing_ to keep loving that makes it true. That’s why Tina and Mike are still so in love even after everything, after disapproving fathers and lost jobs and failed opportunities, that’s why they still choose to go home to each other every night.

Even at Santana’s worst, when she was bitchy and snappy to Brittany, Brittany didn’t leave, she just waited patiently and held her tightly and continued to choose her the next day and the next day and the next day and every day after and probably every day before too.

“I love Brittany Pierce,” she whispers, just once, just to herself, just to see.

The words feel exactly how she thought they would, like the sweetest welcome home.

* * *

It’s not until she’s hidden away on the couch in Tina’s dressing room after the matinee, Tina’s laptop open in front of her and the door locked tightly, Tina out of the theatre to grab supper before the evening show, that she manages to find enough time and courage to dial the number for Brittany’s mom. She doesn’t really know how to explain to Whitney who she is, because she is her daughter’s friend but is also kind of deeply in love with her daughter too, so Santana ends up rambling, something that never ends up being a good thing for her.

Whitney’s a little confused at first, until Santana says she’s a really good friend of her daughter’s and she wants to fly the Pierces out to New York City for a couple days so they can celebrate Christmas with their daughter.

Whitney is immediately suspicious, accusing Santana of being a scammer, and that takes a whole ten minutes to untangle as Santana reassures Whitney that _no, ma’am, I’m not a scammer from India_ and _yes, I do really know your daughter, and her roommate, and her occupation, and her current whereabouts_ , and _no, I’m not a stalker, I work on the show too_.

Eventually Whitney seems to accept who Santana is, and Santana re-explains her plan, how she’ll book tickets for a round trip, how she’ll get them to the theatre so they can see Brittany perform in the show for the first time, how she’ll get them into a back room to surprise Brittany after that. 

As soon as Whitney catches onto what’s happening, her voice grows tight and watery as she insists that it’s too much, that her and her husband will pay part of it, that it’s too great of a gift.

“I—” Santana takes a deep breath, it’s getting easier to talk about her mom, but that doesn’t mean it will ever stop being hard, “Before she died, my mom always told me that Christmas isn’t about presents, it’s about the experience.” Santana takes another breath and smiles a little; she can still hear her mom’s voice if she listens hard enough. “She said it was about making other people happy.” 

_If you can make even one person laugh on Christmas Day,_ mija _, the entirety of your year has been worth every struggle and failure_.

“She left me all this money,” Santana continues quietly, “Everything she’d saved her entire life and everything from her estate, and I shoved it all in a savings account four years ago and haven’t looked at it since because it was too hard of a reminder.”

“Sweetie,” Whitney says softly. Her comforting voice goes to that same soft, even tone as Brittany’s and it makes Santana smile a little.

“Your daughter means a lot to me,” Santana continues carefully, “she helped me through the anniversary of my mom’s death and I— She told me you guys haven’t spent a Christmas together since her first year in the city. And I know you always drive to her grandma’s for Christmas Eve, so I figured even getting to spend a couple days before would, you know,” she trails off awkwardly.

“But—”

“Please,” Santana says softly, “This is the first time I even thought about touching that money, and I want— I _want_ to do this for your family. I don’t want Brittany to regret all the years that— I don’t want her to feel like I have.”

Whitney’s quiet for a long moment, long enough that Santana starts to worry that she crossed a line or that this is an awful idea or that Whitney will turn all overprotective mama bear on her, but then Whitney lets out a shaky breath. “I’m not going to change your mind, am I?” Whitney asks around a teary laugh.

The knot of worry and fear in Santana’s stomach starts to loosen. “No, ma’am,” she says.

“In that case, thank you for this,” Whitney murmurs, her voice warm and wet. “This gift you’re giving my family is priceless and I can’t even begin to pay you back for it. But I have a feeling we may know each other for a long time,” she teases softly, and heat crawls hot and burning under Santana’s skin at the implication, only overshadowed by the warm hope that Whitney is right, “So please, no more of this _ma’am_ stuff. Call me Whitney.”

Santana bites down on her smile and stares at her lap. “Okay, Whitney, I’ve got the ticket site up, I just to know need the closest airport to you.”

* * *

Santana ends up in Brittany’s dressing room for the rest of her supper break, because of course she does. At this point it feels weirder to spend a couple hours away from Brittany than anything, and she’s kind of dreading the end of the show because, even if they aren’t together all the time, just being in the same building and knowing she could run into Brittany at anytime for like ten hours or more a day is basically the best part of her job.

She also kind of thought she would be nervous being around Brittany after her realization earlier, but aside from her heart just about leaping out of her chest, probably to get closer to Brittany’s, at the first sight of her everything is normal; they tease each other and sit far too close together and cuddle into each other once they’re done the sandwiches Brittany bought today, just like they do every day.

Santana supposes that just because she’s admitted it out loud now doesn’t mean the feelings weren’t already there.

She’s more worried about Whitney or Pierce saying something to Brittany, because based on all the stories Brittany has told about her parents, she’s pretty sure it’s impossible for any of the Pierces to keep a secret. Whitney and Pierce just need to keep it until tomorrow and Santana desperately hopes they can at least manage that. The last minute flights, especially around Christmastime, were far more expensive than usual, but Santana refused to tell Whitney the actual price, because to Santana it really didn’t matter. With the savings from her mom, she could easily afford it, and that’s all that mattered to her. She’s just glad that Whitney and Pierce were both off work already—their holidays starting earlier because they were needed back at work after Christmas earlier than most jobs—and that Brittany’s sister has already finished her exams, because it makes a last minute flight to New York tomorrow morning that much easier—

Brittany’s “What’s up, buttercup?” startles Santana out of her thoughts and she jolts against her.

“Huh?” she says dumbly.

Brittany lifts a hand and runs her thumb between Santana’s brows, smoothing out the furrow creasing her skin. “You were like, miles away,” she explains.

Santana feels nervous heat crawl under her skin that Brittany might somehow find out about her plans, and fluttering warmth curl in her stomach at how tender Brittany’s fingers are on her face. She shrugs a little and tries to play it off as if Brittany doesn’t wake up every nerve in her body just be being in the same room as her, let along cuddled against her side. “Sorry, just zoned out a little,” she says honestly, even if it’s not the whole truth.

Brittany shifts a little, slouching against the couch and pulling Santana further into her body. “I used to do that during dance class all the time.”

Santana laughs a little and settles into Brittany’s side, Brittany’s arm warm and heavy and comforting around her shoulder. “Really?”

Brittany hums and lolls her head to the side a little to look Santana. “I’d zone out in the middle of rehearsal and come back to, like, all the way across the room,” she laughs, “Most of my teachers never noticed but the ones who did were always freaked out. Apparently I didn’t blink much when I did it and looked a little possessed.”

Santana beams. “That sounds like me freaking my mom out as a baby by sleeping with my eyes open.”

Brittany grins, delighted and amused to learn more about Santana, and Santana feels like the most important person in the world every time Brittany lights when Santana tells her something about her childhood. “I love it,” she giggles, causing Santana to shiver as it shakes their bodies, nuzzling even closer to Brittany’s warmth, “We could have totally ruled the world.”

Santana hums and they fall into comfortable silence for a moment, Brittany’s fingers absently tracing patterns all over Santana’s back and ribs where she’s curled on her side towards Brittany. 

“Do you have anything to do before break’s done?” Brittany asks quietly.

Santana thinks about the pile of paperwork still on the stage manager’s desk, the checkins she could get a head start on if she left now, the meeting she has with maintenance that’s bound to run late; but it’s all stuff she can get done on time after her break.

She she just turns her head on Brittany’s shoulder and smiles at her, until Brittany’s eyes are scrunched up and catlike. “Nope,” she finally answers, “Just this.”

* * *

During intermission Santana has approximately twenty-three seconds to take a breather before she’s being cornered by Mercedes in some dark corner of the off left wing. She’s too startled to do much more than let Mercedes drag her into the shadows, and dumbly stare at her as she motions for Santana to take her headset off. She does so, warily, shoving it to her neck and turning the mic off.

“I have a question to ask you, Santana,” Mercedes says, and it’s the absence of her _Satan_ nickname that makes Santana realize this is something serious.

“Okay,” Santana says slowly, “Is there something going on with the costumes department, because I just talked to Kurt and he didn’t say—”

“It’s not show related,” Mercedes interrupts, her face hard and closed off.

“Okay,” Santana repeats, “Then can it wait? I’ve really gotta—”

“It’s Brittany related.”

Santana’s blood runs cold and she suddenly finds it hard to breathe for a moment. “Is she okay? What happened? Did she—”

“Wow, wow, wow,” Mercedes says with her hands held up, “Sorry I probably could have phrased that better. Brittany’s fine, it’s just— It’s _about_ Brittany.”

Santana sucks in a steadying breathe. Her knees are a little shaky and she’s nauseous from the gauntlet of emotions that just swept through her. “Jesus, ‘Cedes,” Santana mutters, “Don’t scare me like that.”

Mercedes presses her lips tightly together, expression completely unreadable, but her eyes soften, just a little bit. “It’s about a text I got today,” she starts, and Santana waits for her to continue, only half functioning as she tries to reign in the vestiges of her panic. “It was from Brittany’s mom,” she continues and, for the second time in as many minutes, Santana’s heart basically stops. “She was asking me what my favourite Christmas dish is and offering to make it for me.” Mercedes pauses before glancing up at Santana. “On Friday.”

“I— Uh—”

“Brittany never said anything about her parents and sister coming out, and she would not have been able to keep something that exciting quiet for even a millisecond. But then her mom said something about keeping it a secret and not telling Brittany anything,” Mercedes pauses long enough for Santana to gulp a little, “Apparently Samantha told her to. And since Brittany doesn’t know any Samantha’s, and Whitney never notices when her autocorrect miscorrects her texts, I put two and two together.”

“Well— I mean—”

Mercedes stares long and hard at Santana, her expression hardening a little. “Look Santana, I like you, a lot actually. We’ve become decent friends already, and I think we could continue to be friends for a long time. But Britt’s my homegirl, and I haven’t ever gone threatening best friend on anyone, but between this and the tree I swear that I will. If you’re just doing this to buy her affections you’ve got—”

“What?” Santana yelps, “I— What?”

“If this is just a way to, I don’t know, get into her—”

“No,” Santana interrupts quickly, “That’s not— That’s not what this is about at all. I’m not doing it to pressure Brittany’s or get into her pants or whatever you were just about to accuse me of. I— I’m doing it—” Santana stutters and searches for words that are already on the tip of her tongue, before shrugging a little because she doesn’t know how to not be honest about this, “I don’t care about any of that. I want her to be happy, and having her family here for Christmas for the first time in forever would do that.”

Mercedes’ eyes gentle and drop their defensive glow. “You really love that girl, don’t you,” she says softly, more statement than question.

“What?” Santana shrieks loud enough to draw the attention of a couple snowflakes. She glares them into submission before looking back at Mercedes and lowering her voice. “No— I mean yes— I mean— We’re friends,” she insists, ignoring the disbelieving look Mercedes gives her. Santana sighs and glances off to the side, knowing that _we’re friends_ doesn’t even begin to cover it, but too nervous to admit the real reason since she’s only _just_ admitted it to herself. “We _are_ friends,” Santana repeat as she fidgets with her fingers, “and I just— I just want to do something nice for her because she deserves it. She’s been there for me this past week and I— I just want to make her happy because I love her.” 

Santana blinks and gasps a little as the admission slips out and hangs between them in the dim of backstage, even just after convincing herself not to tell Mercedes, apparently the words are already buzzing on the tip of her tongue and the flimsiest of prying is enough to spill them out. She’s only just come to that realization herself _this morning_ and she’s already blurting it out loud to Mercedes, Brittany’s best friend and roommate and oh god what if she had said it to _Brittany_? She has no filter around that woman at the best of times, and this isn’t something she could just play off. Not that she’d want to, because Santana doesn’t think she’s ever been so honest—to someone else, or even to herself—in her entire life. But it’s just— They haven’t even kissed yet and while Santana knows that she’s definitely in love with Brittany despite that small detail, there’s supposed to be an order to these things. And this might be the first time in her life that she wants to follow that order but it’s _Brittany_ , and she needs to get this _right_ the first time around.

Mercedes expression softens and sweetens at the smitten expression on Santana’s face. “You already make her happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Mercedes admits quietly, “But this? No one’s ever done something like this for her. No one’s ever taken the time to get to know her that much.” 

Santana chews on her lip. “Really?” she whispers. 

Mercedes laughs, and blinks back tears as she thinks of what this will mean to Brittany. “Really really,” she promises.

Santana breathes out a sigh of relief. “So you’ll keep it a secret?” she clarifies.

Mercedes nods and surprises Santana by pulling her into a tight hug. “Of course,” she promises, “As long as you fill me in on everything.”

Santana nods as she pulls back, and Mercedes notices how her eyes drift past her head before softening, like liquid adoration. Mercedes isn’t at all surprised to turn and find Brittany emerging from the shadows, all dressed up as the Sugar Plum Fairy and smiling across the dim of backstage, her smile as soft and lovestruck as the one on Santana’s face.

Mercedes has a sneaking suspicion that Santana might be the only person she’ll ever have to go all protective best friend on, and she’s probably a little too excited at the prospect of Tina and Mike doing the same to Brittany.

Santana and Brittany just keep making eyes at each other until five minutes is called. They both glance away, blushing and giddy, and Santana finally turns back to Mercedes. “Do you have time after the show?” she asks, pushing her headset back on and wincing as she hears Zizes and Blaine going at it like usual, snapping herself back into business mode, “I’ll tell you everything then.”

Mercedes nods but doesn’t let Santana get more than a couple steps before she calls her back, waiting until Santana’s eyes have met hers before she speaks. “I know I don’t really have to say it because I already know you will, but you take care of my homegirl.”

Santana softens from her production stage manager persona and falls back into a girl deeply in love. “I will,” she promises quietly, and Mercedes smiles a little, knowing that Santana means those two little syllables with every fibre of her being.


	20. laughter with loved ones we hadn’t seen in a while

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany knows that something’s going on but no one will tell her anything; Santana’s really good at unpinning hair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is so late today lol but I had a final, a major assignment to finish, and a butt-ton of errands to run. Tomorrow’s chapter might be a little late again too, but by Saturday I should be back to fairly consistent morning updates until the end of this fic!

Santana leads their rehearsals this afternoon, her reflection stretching back infinitely as Brittany admires her from where she’s sprawled on the floor. Santana’s herding party girls around, trying to hold their attention despite the fact that there’s only five days until Christmas at boring rehearsal in street clothes is the last thing on their minds. Freddie sticks close to Santana, never farther than an arm length away, and Santana is mindful of her, smiling down and answering her questions with patience between ushering the other girls around.

It’s adorable, and even though Santana said that Freddie had a crush on the Sugar Plum Fairy, Brittany’s pretty sure she has one on the production stage manager as well.

They’re running the party scene, all of the party boys already herded into the other corner, to improvise some choreography and fill in a couple of kids who came down with the flu overnight, and while Brittany doesn’t technically need to be here yet because her rehearsal with Jake, Her Cavalier, isn’t for another half hour, she couldn’t pass up the opportunity to watch Santana in her element.

She’s patient but firm, ordering children around with no hint of irritation or exasperation despite how much of a nightmare it must be to try and organize just under sixty children; but what Brittany’s really here to see is Santana’s mind in action. While she denies having any sense of artistry, and insists on stage production is more mechanical and repetitive than anything, it’s hard to hide that Santana has a rare sense of foresight and vision about how everything’s going to come together. It’s like she can sense the flow of the music in her bones, position each dancer in her mind before they even step on stage, spot all the problem areas and streamline the choreography, all within a split second.

Brittany loves watching Santana do what she loves, because it’s its own dance in of itself. Santana stands at the front of the room and counts out beats for the rehearsal pianist, Brad, and they’re completely in tune with each other as he takes over beat counting while Santana weaves gracefully among the dancers and quickly repositions them. She rearranges the blocking for dance with all of the party girls and boys to fill the empty spaces from the kids out sick, telling them to try and remember their new positions but promising that they won’t get in trouble if they forget.

It’s nice to watch Santana relaxed and not get caught up inside her head. She had been acting weird at breakfast, now that Brittany thinks about it. Not bad weird, like she was before she told Brittany about her mom’s death, just jittery weird, like someone had filled her shoes with ants. The really telling thing was how often she fidgeted with her fingers, so often that Brittany had reached across the table and teased Santana’s right hand away to hold it herself, causing that adorable breathless look Brittany so adores to flash across her face. 

Santana’s jittery like she was on Tuesday as they were walking to her Christmas tree surprise. Brittany can’t imagine how she could have a better surprise than that hidden up her sleeve, but she definitely plans on plying her with pouts later today. She loves surprises, but she also loves knowing what the surprise is basically as soon as possible.

Santana continues to lead the rehearsal, and the only hint that she realizes Brittany is watching her is the soft smile she occasionally gives the mirror in front of her, a hundred versions of Santana reflecting back at Brittany behind her and making it pretty hard for Brittany to stop smiling at all while she watches the rehearsal. 

Jake arrives shortly thereafter, and he plops down beside her to start stretching out, chatting comfortably as they wait for Santana to finish ushering the children out before she turns her attention to them. Her eyes are sparkling and she gives Brittany a quick smile before she crosses the room to reach the piano. She quickly gulps down some water from the bottle Brittany brought her, leaning down to talk to Brad and pointing out something on his sheet music. Her ponytail is a little bushy today, evidence that she let her hair air dry instead of blow drying it like usual, and it falls over her shoulder and obstructs Brittany’s view of her face, so she trails her gaze over the clever strength in her arms, the flex of her shoulders, the curve of her back—

“Brittany?”

Brittany jumps and gasps as she glances back at Jake, who’s studying her curiously. “Sorry, what?”

Jake smirks a little, his eyes drifting to Santana before settling back on hers with a look a little too knowing for Brittany’s taste. “I was just asking if you knew what part we were rehearsing.”

“Oh,” Brittany says easily, “Santana wants us to work on the Coda. We’ve been a little out of sync from our first _grand-battement_ to our _grand jeté_ on the last couple shows.”

Jake hums and bends to stretch out his back, crawling his fingers along the floor between his legs. “When’d she tell you?”

“At breakfast this morning,” Brittany answers automatically, only realizing what she’s admitted when Jake’s smirk deepens and burning heat prickles her cheeks. “Not like— Not like _that_ ,” she quickly corrects, but Jake just hums smugly, “We just went to a café and— Not because we—”

She groans and drops her head into her hands. She’s never been this inarticulate about this particular subject before. She’s never been shy about sex, not that she’d tell anyone or anything that would listen about her sex life, she’s just always been quietly open but still private about it, and especially with people she’s known for years, like Jake, who’s her dance bro. But even just the slightest teasing from him that just _implies_ her and Santana slept together makes her blush like she’s a teenager listening to her friends gossip about sex at a sleepover for the first time.

A warm hand lands on her shoulder and she peaks out from behind her fingers to find Jake grinning at her. “I was just teasing you,” he says in amusement, “But I _knew_ something was going on with you and Lopez.”

“Well—” Brittany hesitates because _yes_ , but also not fully, “Kinda?”

Jake’s grin widens. “Kinda?” he asks incredulously, “I think you mean definitely, I’ve seen the way you two _melt_ around each other like a bunch of lovestruck fools.”

“I mean,” Brittany says and then trails off because he’s not really wrong. And Santana just proves his point when she chooses that moment to stand up from where she’s been leaning beside Brad and turn to her next two dancers for rehearsal with that wide, uninhibited, dimpled smile directed straight at Brittany.

Brittany’s heart thuds heavily against her chest and she feels a little bit like a cartoon character with hearts in their eyes.

Judging by Jake’s smirk, she has a feeling she probably looks a little bit like one too.

* * *

At supper Brittany continues to try and force Santana to tell her what’s got her so antsy and jittery, but Santana is so smugly _coy_ about the entire thing—even if Brittany can see the hint of nerves in her eyes—and it’s too adorable for Brittany try and get her to spill too much. If she’s this excited even before Brittany’s seen the surprise, she can’t imagine how adorable she will be once the time comes for her to reveal it.

She continues to teasingly pout and prod though because it’s the principle of the thing, but Santana just smiles and shoves fries in Brittany’s mouth to hush her, ducking her head down to smile shyly at her lap before smirking up at Brittany.

Santana has to run off before her supper break is done to deal with something that comes up and causes her to groan as she takes the phone call before apologizing and starting to stand up. Brittany pouts at her for abandoning her, but Santana leans forward and presses a quick kiss to Brittany’s cheek, jumpstarting Brittany’s heart before she flees out the door.

Brittany stares blankly at her doorway, her skin tingling where Santana’s lips had just been, aching for more even as Brittany giggles a little at Santana’s tactics of fleeing as soon as possible so she doesn’t break and admit to the surprise; she could see it in Santana’s eyes, the way she was almost bursting to tell her whatever it is that she’s hiding, and Brittany grins all through getting ready for thee show

She may be impatient to know, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to ruin whatever the surprise is for Santana since she’s so excited about it.

It also doesn’t mean that she’s ever going to stop thinking that Santana is the most adorable person ever. 

Mercedes comes to help her get dressed, and it only takes one look at her smirk for Brittany to realize that Mercedes knows what’s going on too. She stares blankly at Mercedes while she holds open her costume to step into, long enough that Mercedes gives her a weird look and a confused “What?”

“You know,” Brittany says in awe.

“Huh? Know what?”

“About Santana’s— About Santana’s whatever she’s planning.”

“No?” Mercedes tries, and even if Brittany hasn’t lived with her for _years_ and been her best friend for even longer, there’s no way she would have ever believed Mercedes’ obvious lie.

“You’re lying,” Brittany accuses, her stomach fluttering and something giddy filling her up, “You know about Santana’s surprise.”

“Not at all,” Mercedes continues to lie through her teeth.

Brittany stares at Mercedes for a long moment when the five minute call for intermission sounds and urges her to finally step into her costume, steadying herself on Mercedes’ shoulder. “You totally do,” Brittany says.

“Um, nope. Not at all.”

Brittany shakes her head and turns to let Mercedes zip up the back of her costume, her hands ice cold as they brush her back, causing Brittany to squirm. “Am I going to like it?”

Mercedes is silent as she finishes up, smoothing out wrinkles and pinning a loose curl of blonde hair back to Brittany’s head. “Not that I know anything—”

“Course,” Brittany interrupts impatiently, “But if you did?”

Mercedes walks around to face Brittany and quickly touches up her makeup, inspecting their combined work for a long minute before deciding that she’s satisfied. “You’ll love it,” she finally says.

Brittany bounces in place a little, clasping her hands together and trying to beat back the burst of happiness that surges through her. “Score,” is all she manages to say without spontaneously combusting from loving Santana so much.

Mercedes just laughs and shakes her head before ushering Brittany out of the dressing room.

* * *

Mercedes isn’t in her dressing room when the show’s done, so she just shrugs and struggles to unzip the back of her costume herself. It’s not the first time she’s had to wiggle her way out of her costume without Mercedes, but she still hasn’t quite figured out the best way to find the hidden zipper and tug it down without almost dislocating her shoulder.

Someone knocks at her door just as she’s almost picked the zipper away from its little hidden pocket and it startles her out of her concentration. She sighs and calls for whoever it is to come in, hoping that they’ll be able to help her.

“Hey, Britt,” Santana greets, and somehow she’s even more antsy and jittery than she was earlier.

Brittany grins, because Santana is so, so, so adorable. “Okay seriously,” Brittany chides teasingly, “Did you walk through an anthill this morning?”

Brittany can see as Santana struggles to reign in her excitement, but it only reveals the hint of nerves underneath. “No I’m just— I have a surprise for you.”

Brittany bounces up on her toes with a grin. “I knew it,” she cheers, “I knew you had a surprise. What is it?”

“I can’t—” Santana bites away her smile, playing with her fingers as she steps further into the room, “I mean, I have to take you to it.”

Brittany grins wider as she crosses the room to Santana. “Okay,” she says, “let’s go.” Santana’s giggles stop her and she belatedly realizes she’s still in costume. “Oh yeah,” she grins.

“Come on,” Santana says with a wide smile, “We gotta get out of your costume quickly.”

Brittany couldn’t bite back the smile and suggestive quirk to her brows even if she wanted to, especially not with the way Santana instantly flushes and flusters so much that, as rare as it is, Brittany can actually see the blush pink her cheeks.

“Not like— Not like that— I mean— I just, you— And they’re—” Santana stutters, sounding about the same way Brittany did earlier under Jake’s teasing. “Oh shut up,” she finally finishes lamely.

Brittany holds up her hands innocently, her smirk anything but, “I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t have to,” Santana mumbles. When Brittany makes no move to get changed she rolls her eyes and shoves at Brittany’s arm. “You’re the worst,” she whines.

Brittany lets herself sway dramatically from Santana’s gentle shove before they both burst into giggles. “Fine, fine, fine,” she teases, turning and nodding at Santana over her shoulder, “Can you unzip me though? I dunno where Mercedes ran off to.”

Santana doesn’t answer, but her breath hitches audibly, which is answer enough. The backs of Santana’s fingers graze her bare back and familiar warmth curls low in her stomach as she concentrates on remembering how to breath, the seconds stretching longer and longer as Santana fumbles to pick the zipper away from the fabric it’s hidden behind, her knuckles continuing to bump against Brittany’s back with every movement. She finally manages to get a grip on the zipper and carefully tugs it down to the base of Brittany’s spine, her warm touch dampened by Brittany’s low-cut bodysuit but no less electric. Santana’s hand splays against the small of her back for a moment, separated from her bare skin only by the almost nylon-thin bodysuit, and Brittany holds her breath in the charged air around them before Santana jerks back, blushing and stuttering fiercely.

Brittany takes long moments to collect her thoughts and steady her breathing before she glances at Santana over her shoulder, whatever excuses or apologies that were on Santana’s lips dying instantly. “Thanks,” she whispers. Santana’s jaw snaps closed and she nods dumbly. “I still gotta ice my feet no matter how urgent your surprise is,” Brittany manages, “Do you think you could unpin my hair while I do that? After I change? It’ll go faster if you do it ‘cause I can’t see all the bobby pins.” Santana nods wordlessly and stares after Brittany as she heads to the corner of her dressing room where her costume usually hangs, jolting and spinning on her heel as soon as Brittany starts to slide her arms out of the sleeves. 

Brittany changes quicker than she ever has before; the tension in the air is something she is kind of already addicted to, but this isn’t the time or the place so she beats back her arousal and slips into a loose hoodie and sweats. “Okay,” she calls to Santana, a little surprised at how raspy her voice is when it comes out. She clears her throat and tries again. “Okay, I’m decent.”

Santana’s shoulders rise as she takes a deep breath before she turns back around, and Brittany tries to control the heat buzzing throughout her body at the look in Santana’s eyes. Mercedes was in her room at some point before the end of the show, because the bucket of ice is already there and waiting as Brittany sinks down on the couch and draws her feet up to peel the tape off her toes. The couch dips beside her as Santana kneels down on the cushions, her knees pressing to Brittany’s thigh and hip as she sits back on her heels. Brittany shoots her a quick grin as she tosses the tape onto the coffee table and sinks her feet into the bucket of ice.

Santana giggles at the hiss Brittany lets out, the cold still a complete shock to her system no matter how many time’s she’s done this. Brittany pouts in mock hurt and Santana just grins at her, urging Brittany to duck forward a bit so she can reach her head easier. 

Despite the cold coursing through her body, her insides warm and buzz at how nice Santana’s fingers feel probing gently at her scalp, easing bobby pins out of her hair with all the care in the world. Brittany sighs and softens under Santana’s ministrations, humming and shaking her head when Santana whispers to ask if she’s hurting her. She’s pretty sure Santana’s fingers couldn’t ever feel better than they do right now, but then then soften even more as strands of Brittany’s hair start to fall around her shoulders, curly from being pinned up so long, and Santana gets distracted from tugging out bobby pins by running her fingers through the freed strands and gently untangling knots as she comes across them.

“That feels so nice,” Brittany hums.

Santana giggles and it bumps the inside of her bicep against Brittany’s nose. Brittany purses her lips into a soft kiss against Santana’s skin, causing her hands to still in blonde hair for a moment before she seemingly regains her ability to function. Brittany grins smugly as Santana shakes her head, and Brittany doesn’t need to see her face to know Santana’s rolling her eyes, that lopsided smile that tries to be annoyed but is really just fond playing on her lips.

Once Brittany’s teeth start chattering she finally pulls her feet out and dries them off with the towel on the coffee table, tugging thick socks on as Santana runs her fingers through Brittany’s hair a couple more times to ensure all the bobby pins are out; probably a couple more times than necessary, but Brittany’s definitely not complaining. 

As soon as Brittany stands up Santana seems to snap back into the jittery-antsy-nervous place she’s been all day as she quickly ushers Brittany into her sneakers and out the door. Brittany chuckles and tucks her phone and wallet and keys into the front pocket of her hoodie as she’s pushed down the hallway, only just realizing that she’s kind of missing something important, especially for this time of year.

“Wait, my jacket.”

“Mercedes has it,” Santana answers automatically, and Brittany frowns a little because that seems weird, but Santana just tugs on her arm from where their fingers are tangled. It all seems part of some greater thing Santana has planned, so Brittany just shrugs and lets herself be pulled along for the ride. 

They wind their way through the theatre, dodging company and crew members alike, until Santana pulls her back to where all the offices and conference rooms are located. Brittany scans the hallway looking for some indication of what’s about to happen, but finds none other than Santana getting even more fidgety as they pass closed doors and dark windows.

“Hey,” Brittany calls softly as they slow outside of one of the rooms, “Don’t worry so much. I’m going to love whatever it is because it’s from you, and you’ve obviously put so much thought into this.”

Santana relaxes but the jittery energy doesn’t leave her. “I’m not really nervous,” she explains with a small smile, “Just really excited.” She takes a deep breath and steps across the hallway to a door, the only room with its lights on, peaking out through the window where the blinds don’t quite reach, Brittany’s fingers falling away from hers. She rests her hand on the doorknob and gives Brittany one more smile before opening the door. “Go on,” she urges softly, stepping back to allow Brittany into the room.

The first thing Brittany sees is the bouquet of flowers, a dozen roses in a bright shade of yellow, filling the room with their sweet scent

The second thing Brittany sees is that it’s her dad is holding the bouquet of flowers. 

Brittany blinks and just stares at him for a long moment, everything around her turning hazy and surreal at the edges, like the best dream in the world. But then her dad is setting the flowers on his chair as he stands up and before she realizes it she’s across the room and in her family’s arms, sobbing as she buries herself in an embrace she hasn’t felt in far more years than she ever wants to count. Her sister catches her, and then her dad and mom fold around them. She can’t believe that they’re actually here because it seems so impossible and miraculous, so she just clutches them tighter. Her mom’s face is wet against the side of her neck and her dad is reaching up to stroke her hair back from her face and her sister’s arms are wound tight around her waist and she still feels like she’s dreaming, like all this might go away if she opens her eyes so she just tightens her arms around her family in case she wakes up in her bed all alone.

Her mom’s murmuring something against her temple and her dad is mumbling something against her shoulder and her sister is teasing them all for being so sappy even while she cries too and it’s too much and not enough all at once. 

“How did you get here?” Brittany finally manages to mumble into her mom’s shoulder, once her sobbing has subsided into tiny whimpers.

She can feel her mom smile against her temple, the familiar quirk of lips shifting against her hair as her mom looks over her shoulder. “Well, your friend Santana had an idea yesterday,” her mom says softly, “To give our family the greatest gift of all.”

Brittany’s tears start up again as she raises her head from her mom’s comforting warmth and glances behind her to find Santana hovering awkward in the doorway. When she meets Brittany’s gaze her fidgeting stills and she waves her hand in a dorky wave, and Brittany didn’t even know it was possible to love one person so much. She glances at her family, but they nod and urge her to go on before the question can even form in her mind. She slowly untangles herself from their embrace— _a gloup hug_ , her sister used to say back when she was about three feet shorter and still had a bit of an adorable toddler lisp—and crosses the room to Santana, who stills her fidgeting with every step Brittany takes.

As soon as Brittany reaches her, she wraps her arms around Santana and tugs them so close together that there’s barely room to breath, no space separating them even a fraction, Santana’s arms around her neck and her own arms tugging Santana into her body by the small of her back; Santana nuzzles into her neck and Brittany takes a deep breathe and whatever words were on her tongue fade away as their ribs lock together like the last piece of a puzzle clicking into place.

Every thought fades except for the simplest words, and the most true, as she turns her head to find Santana’s ear, her nose bending it forwards for a moment before it flops back. “Thank you,” she breathes, her breath tickling Santana’s hair against their cheeks. 

Santana turns her head a little until her chin tucks itself into the hinge between Brittany’s shoulder and neck, where it settles into the space as if Brittany’s body was sculpted for her to fit right there. “You’re welcome,” she whispers, her lips brushing Brittany’s neck. 

Brittany sighs into her embrace and feels so wonderfully full of love and happiness that she can’t imagine ever feeling better than she does right now, with her family behind her and her future right in front of her.


	21. hot chocolates and crackers and family smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany invites Santana over for Christmas supper; Santana should have known that the Pierce’s would all be as endearingly charming as Brittany.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for being so patient the past couple days! My school year started late so they pushed our end of term late too, so this week has been crazy busy but the chapter’s here now and it’s still on time in my timezone lmao.
> 
> Forgive any mistakes in this because I just did one last checkover while severely sleep deprived lmao. Tomorrow’s chapter will either be up early morning or late afternoon!

Santana’s drifting in and out of a dream filled with blonde hair and blue eyes when she registers that her phone is ringing. She groans and buries herself further under her blanket, desperate for even a couple more seconds of sleep. After all the excitement yesterday she had thought she would immediately crash after crawling into bed last night, but she ended up wide awake for most of the night, her mind continuing to replay the disbelieving and overjoyed look on Brittany’s face once she saw her family sitting there in that back room. Despite all that she’s overcome and done in her life, she’s pretty sure her proudest moment was last night, when Brittany turned back to her with that tender, adoring on expression on her face that made it impossible for Santana to doubt that Brittany returns her feelings. 

She’s, like, almost one-hundred percent positive that Brittany is as in love with her as Santana is with Brittany, because the look on her face last night was so simple and honest that Santana can’t imagine what else it could be.

Her phone stops ringing and she sighs, still drifting between sleep and consciousness, but there’s barely a moment of silence before it starts ringing again, finally tipping her towards consciousness. Santana grumbles as she emerges from her pile of blankets and glares at her vibrating phone on the bedside table. It’s a two show day, which means she really should answer her phone in case there’s some emergency at the theatre that desperately needs to be addressed, but that doesn’t mean she’s going to be happy about it.

She finally grabs her phone and answers it with a grunt that could, generously, be interpreted as a _hello_.

The laughter that answers her is like the best alarm clock in the world.

“Brittany!” Santana says, and instantly she’s wide awake. She wonders if she could record Brittany’s laugh and use that as an alarm instead of whatever prerecorded sounds are on her phone because it does a much better job of waking her up than her real one.

“Took you long enough to answer grumpypants,” Brittany teases, and the smile in her voice brings one to Santana’s face in return.

“I thought you where the ghosts of the theatre trying to get me to come in early,” Santana yawns. 

“Forget the ghosts of Christmas past, the ones with bowties and too big egos are much more terrifying,” Brittany agrees with a laugh.

Santana hums and lets her eyes close, pretending, just for a moment, that Brittany’s voice isn’t coming through her phone and is instead right beside her. She imagines how nice it would be to be wrapped around Brittany right now; Brittany’s always so warm and Santana’s always so cold, and she always sleeps the best when Brittany’s breathing is the soundtrack for her dreams, her heartbeat lulling her to sleep like— 

“—so would you like to?”

Santana blinks her eyes open, startling back to the present. “I’m sorry, what?”

Brittany laughs, high and fluttery, and Santana can hear the hint of nerves radiating from the sound. “Did you fall back asleep?”

“No,” Santana protests immediately, and then, after Brittany’s little disbelieving noise, she adds sheepishly, “Maybe a little?”

Brittany giggles and there’s a moment of silence where they just listen to the other smile before Brittany restarts her question. “I was saying, before you so _rudely_ fell asleep on me—”

“Hey!” Santana protests around a laugh. “It’s not my fault you called at,” she pulls her phone away from her head to check the time, “seven thirteen in the morning!”

“—that Holly gave me the day off since my family’s here,” Brittany continues as if Santana hadn’t interrupted her, “and it would give Jane some real experience on stage. So I was wondering if you wanted to have Christmas supper with my family tonight?” she asks and basically causes all of Santana’s body to shut down as all functions are redirected towards trying to stop her heart from leaping out of her chest.

“Really?” she whispers, “I don’t wanna, like, intrude or anything.”

“You wouldn’t be,” Brittany hurries to insist. “My mom suggested it, actually, and I’d—” Brittany’s voice drops to a whisper and for a moment Santana feels like they might be the only two people in the entire world, “I’d really love it if you came.”

Santana’s heart swells in her chest until it feels too big and too bright for her body to contain it, and then just as quickly a sudden, disappointing thought strikes her and her heart crumples and shrinks like a crumped up paper towel. “Britt, I’d love to,” she sighs, “but it’s a two show day. I won’t be out of the theatre until, like, after eleven.”

“Well,” Brittany drawls sheepishly, “I _may_ have mentioned that to Holly and she _may_ have offered to give you the second show off, since you were hired on such short notice with no complaint and Holly said she really appreciated it and you deserve a little break and also so Quinn can get some more experience running the show. Only if you want of course!” Brittany adds hurriedly. “No pressure or anything! I totally get it if you don’t want to because you don’t know my family and I know they can kinda be a bit much sometim—”

“I’d love to,” Santana interrupts quietly, and she can hear Brittany’s teeth click as her jaw snaps closed.

“Really?” she breathes. 

Santana grins into the darkness and snuggles further into her blankets, the warmth surrounding her nothing compared to the warmth in Brittany’s voice. “Definitely,” she promises.

Santana just listens to Brittany smile for a long moment, before Brittany manages a “Cool” that barely contains her happiness it’s so bright and warm. “You can just come over after the matinee or whenever. Mercedes and Sam are coming after the evening show too, so.”

“Okay, see you then,” Santana murmurs.

“See you,” Brittany whispers and there’s a beat of silence, a farewell missing that is unspoken but not unfelt, before they both whisper _bye_ and the same time and giggle as they hang up.

Santana clutches her phone tightly in her hand and turns to bury her face into her pillow, willing herself not to burst from the dizzying force of the love that courses through her body, before she finally gets out of bed to get ready for the show.

* * *

Santana spends the entirety of rehearsals and the matinee being mercilessly teased by, in turn, Quinn, Mercedes, Mike, and then Tina.

At least Tina is helpful about her teasing; Quinn just smirks at her the _entire_ morning of rehearsals and then even more during show, somehow both amused and haughty, Mercedes and Mike won’t stop making kissy faces and cooing at her the entire lunch break when she eats with them, both of them ganging up on her _completely unfairly_ , but Tina is the only one who is actually useful while she’s teasing. She helps Santana redo her makeup after the matinee so its less _I’m an exhausted production stage manager don’t talk to me or I’ll snap_ and more _I’m confidently meeting my not-yet-a-girlfriend girlfriend’s parents despite not being confident, like, at all_ , and then helping Santana pick out an outfit without either of them even being near her closet because Tina just knows her so well.

“I can’t believe you’re actually worried about making a good impression,” Tina mumbles as she concentrates on getting Santana’s eyeliner just right, “You’ve already made such a good impression that I don’t think there’s any left for the rest of us.”

“That’s not how it works, twinkle toes,” Santana snarks.

“I know _that_ you doofus,” Tina says with a dramatic eye roll, “I’m just showing you how absolutely ridiculous you sound for thinking even for a second that her family won’t like you.”

“I know it’s just—” Santana cuts herself off and looks away quickly. She looks so fretful that Tina doesn’t even scold her for almost causing Tina to draw a black line across her temple with the eyeliner. “If— If Brittany and I start dating,” Tina snorts a little because _please_ they’ve basically been dating since the moment they met, “She’s never going to meet my family, unless they all pull their heads out of their homophobic asses, which will probably happen about the same time I marry a man, so never.” Tina quiets and gently strokes her hand over Santana’s shoulder until Santana finally glances back up with a slightly watery smile. “That’s why this is so important,” she continues quietly, “Because they’re— I don’t have anyone to introduce her to and— I mean—”

“Hey, hey, hey,” Tina coos before Santana’s tears can even fully form, “I get it. I know why this means so much to you— You’re getting the chance to have a family again.” Santana just nods, not trusting herself to speak, and Tina lets her wallow for a moment before she smiles a little. “But you don’t gotta worry about that. After yesterday I already know her parents _adore_ you, and I only meet them in passing.”

Santana sighs and murmurs her thanks, tilting her head back up and allowing Tina to return to carefully applying Santana’s makeup.

“Tina?” Santana says quietly, and Tina hums a little in acknowledgement as she carefully taps the mascara brush to Santana’s eyelashes. “I already have a family,” she admits quietly.

There’s really nothing Tina could say to that statement than what Santana’s already said, so instead she just folds Santana into her arms and holds her tightly. “You know Mike and I have arguments all the time about which of us gets you for our future wedding party,” she jokes, as if this hasn’t been a real concern whenever Mike and Tina discuss their hypothetical future wedding, “Mike insists on claiming you as his best woman because you two are bros but I always call dips on you as my maid of honour because I knew you first and finders keepers, losers weepers, _Michael_.”

Santana’s laughter is muffled against her shoulder. “I should totally exploit this and make you duel each other for my affections.”

“Oooh that’s a good idea,” Tina says mock-seriously, and then, completely serious, “I’d crush Mike though.”

Santana giggles and settles again, her insecurity fading under Tina’s comforting embrace.

* * *

Santana hasn’t had Christmas with anyone besides her mom, and sometimes her mom’s chill younger sister when she’s in the country, since her abuela disowned her all the way back in high school. It’s stung deeply every year no matter how hard her mom would work to keep her mind from dwelling on the thought, but now, surrounded by the laughter and playful teasing of the Pierces, it feels like a distant memory of another life.

She’s spent the last four Christmases alone, but watching Brittany and her sister gang up on their dad with two rolls of wrapping paper while she helps Whitney cut up vegetables in the kitchen reminds her why she used to love the holiday so much when she was younger; back when her abuela would hold her hand at midnight mass and sneak her chocolates from her pocket when the minister wasn’t looking, when her and her cousins would terrorize the neighbourhood with their Crazy Carpets and sleds, when her mom would always wake her up in the morning so they could make homemade cinnamon buns, just the two of them, for breakfast before opening their presents, Santana’s presents always wrapped with care after her mom picked up so many overtime shifts to afford whatever Santana wanted for Christmas that year, her mom’s presents always sloppily handmade or cheaply bought with the money she got for walking Mrs. Sandia’s dog from down the street.

She forgot what it’s like to be surrounded by the joyful chaos of a family who loves so loud.

A hand on her arm startles her out of her thoughts and she jolts a little, turning to find Whitney smiling softly at her. “Penny for your celery,” she says quietly.

Santana glances down in surprise; she hadn’t even realized she was finished slicing the celery. She should probably pay more attention and not zone out when she has a knife so close to precious fingertips. She quickly sets the knife down and allows Whitney to reach across her and take the cutting board so she can dump the celery into the stuffing. “I just—” Santana starts, and then quiets for a long moment. “I just forgot how much I missed this,” she finally admits, quiet and honest. “My extended family didn’t really like that I’m— Well I haven’t seen them since I was in high school, and for so long it was just me and my mom which was perfectly fine with me. But then after—After everything, it was just me after.”

Whitney sets the cutting board down and turns to pull Santana into a tight hug, her arms strong and warm just like Brittany’s always are and the thought makes Santana smile. “Blood doesn’t always create love,” she says wisely, and Santana’s eyes wander to the living room and catch on Brittany and her dad, giggling as they hang garland from the window.

They look nothing alike; Brittany’s about a foot taller and all California girl beauty, blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and summer sun freckles where her dad is straight hair and coffee dark eyes and clear skin, but they have the same smile, one that quirks their lips up and spreads them thin, scrunching their cheeks up to their eyes until they’re actually glowing from within, a smile that Santana can’t help but return whenever she sees it no matter what’s going on around her.

How some people don’t think that Pierce is her dad because of something as dumb as biology is beyond her; she knows better than anyone that blood doesn’t mean anything unless you choose to make it mean something.

“Thank you,” she mumbles into Whitney’s shoulder, “For letting me crash your family-time today.”

Whitney shakes her head, pressing a motherly kiss to Santana’s temple as she pulls away, releasing Santana to brush dark hair back from her face. “Of course,” she says, her lips quirking up into a small smile as she playfully pinches Santana’s cheeks before growing serious again. “You make my little girl happier than I’ve ever seen her,” she continues, and heat prickles Santana’s cheeks, “and you made today possible, so, really, thank _you_.”

Santana’s still blushing when Brittany wanders into the kitchen a couple minutes later, her uninhibited smile growing wider as she watches Santana and her mom work side by side in the kitchen.

“What?” Santana says self-consciously, but Brittany just shakes her head wordlessly, refusing to say anything. She doesn’t have to, because between Brittany’s bashful-hopeful look and Whitney’s knowing smile, Santana knows exactly what Brittany’s thinking, and there’s nothing she wants more than for Brittany’s thoughts to come true, for her to be doing this with the Pierces for years to come.

* * *

After supper Whitney and Brittany disappear to her room to hunt for a deck of cards in her closet, one that Santana promises she one-hundred percent saw when her and Brittany were looking for Christmas tree ornaments the other day. Pierce is as goofy and sweet as his daughter, and Brittany’s sister is as snarky and teasing as her sister, and Santana takes great joy in watching the Pierces and matching their characteristics and mannerisms to Brittany’s, finding that she fits in with them as easily as she fits with Brittany.

After a couple minutes of being recruited into helping Brittany’s sister hunt through the kitchen drawers to see if there’s a deck of cards there, she heads down the hallway to see if Whitney and Brittany had any luck; she’s pretty sure the deck was in the crumbling cardboard box with half its lid missing that her and Brittany shoved to the very back of the closet shelf.

The sound of her name catches her attention as she nears Brittany’s room, and she slows to a stop and pauses outside the doorway. The light from Brittany’s lamp—the lightbulb in the ceiling light went out yesterday morning and Brittany hadn’t had time to replace it yet—spills out into the hallway and casts Brittany and Whitney’s shadows long and looming on the opposite wall as she concentrates on the conversation in Brittany’s room.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me that you have a girlfriend?” Whitney asks incredulously and Santana’s heart relocates to her throat, somehow pounding in her ears all the way down to her toes. “You’ve already told me so much about Santana this past month, you could have told me she was your girlfriend not just your friend, you know I don’t care who you date as long as they treat you right, and Santana so obviously does that.”

“No, it’s not— It’s not that— It’s just—” Brittany stutters, but her mom just continues to talk over her.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetie,” Whitney promises, “your dad and I think she’s wonderful. And not just for flying us out here. I’d don’t think I’ve ever, in your whole life, seen you as happy and settled as you are around her, and she absolutely _lights_ up whenever you walk in the room. You don’t have to be scared that we won’t approve or something. I mean how could we disapprove, we adore her already.”

“I didn’t tell you because she’s not—” Brittany stutters, and Santana can easily picture the soft flush to her cheeks, “We’re not— I mean, we _are_ but we _aren’t_ , you know?”

She can see Whitney shake her head in the shadow on the hallway wall. “I— I don’t think I follow.”

Brittany laughs a little, her shadow dancing a little with the motion. “It’s okay, I don’t think I was following either.”

Whitney’s shadow shifts closer to Brittany’s until they’re indistinguishable from each other. “Why don’t you try again?” she offers.

Brittany takes a deep, steadying breath, and when she speaks Santana can hear the smile in her voice. “We only went on our first official date on Monday,” she explains softly, “But we’ve kinda been unofficially dating, like, every single day since we meet, more or less.”

“So then,” Whitney’s voice trails off and Santana wonders if her brows quirk in the same way her daughter’s does.

Brittany laughs a little and it looks like her shoulders shrug by the way the shadows twitch near their combined heads. “I mean, you know me, I’m usually pretty content to just let whatever happens happen.”

“But you already know what you want,” Whitney says knowingly.

Brittany laughs again, her voice bright and happy. “Of course I do, I want to be her girlfriend for, like, a really, really, really long time.”

Santana’s pretty sure she stops breathing entirely. She had known, of course, or at least suspected, but hearing it said aloud kind of makes Santana want to run up to the rooftop and shout that _Brittany S. Pierce_ , the most amazing and brilliant and snarky and sweet girl in the entire world, wants to be _her_ girlfriend; no one else’s, just _her_ girlfriend.

She takes a moment to compose herself before she sneaks back to the kitchen, finding Pierce and Brittany’s sister engaged in hot chocolate making. 

“Did they find it?” Brittany’s sister asks as soon as she spots Santana. 

Santana panics for a moment shrugs, opting for honesty. “I dunno, it sounded like they were having a serious conversation so I didn’t interrupt.”

Brittany’s sister eyes her for a moment—and Santana is suddenly thankful her blush is never too obvious to people who don’t know her really well—before she shrugs and turns back to the fridge to locate the whipped cream.

Pierce glances up from putting the kettle on and grins at Santana, who’s hovering awkwardly at the end of the kitchen counter. “Has Brittany ever taught you how to make our World Famous Pierce Hot Chocolate?” Pierce asks. Brittany’s sister catches Santana’s gaze over her dad’s head and rolls her eyes, circling her finger around her temple as she shakes her head, causing Santana to bite back a grin. When Santana shakes her head Pierce gasps, apparently scandalized and insulted by the fact. “Well we gotta fix that right away,” he insists, urging Santana closer, “Now it’s a secret family recipe but you seem to have a friendly face so I’ll trust you with it.”

Brittany’s sister snorts from across the kitchen at her dad’s antics. “It’s not a secret family recipe if you keep sharing it with people not named Pierce, dad,” she chides teasingly. 

“Nonsense,” Pierce says with a wink in Santana’s direction, “Everyone in this household today is an honorary Pierce.”

Santana blushes at Pierce’s words—at the thought of being a _Pierce_ —and listens avidly to the family recipe, feeling more Christmasy than she has in years.

* * *

By the time Santana—for the seventh time, not that anyone’s counting—gets her ass whooped by all the Pierces at every card game they know, the evening show at the theatre should just be calling half hour, which means there’s a half hour before the live action _How the Grinch Stole Christmas_ is going to start. While Whitney and Pierce decline the next hand of Blackout and disappear into the kitchen to make popcorn and pull out all sorts of snacks, Brittany’s sister takes it upon herself to teach Santana the best way to beat Brittany. For someone who’s being ganged up on, Santana doesn’t think she’s ever seen Brittany look happier; though she would be lying if this whole day, being so easily accepted into the Pierce family, hasn’t made Santana happier than ever either.

Pierce and Whitney emerge with snacks just as Santana successfully wins her first hand for the very first time all night, and Brittany’s pout at losing is completely useless because she has to hide her smile behind her cards; Santana can still see it in her sparkling blue eyes though.

Whitney and Pierce distribute snack bowls before sinking down in the couch, Brittany’s sister quickly claiming the third cushion, glancing between the only seat left, the armchair perpendicular to the couch, and Brittany with a challenging smirk.

Santana’s a little behind on the uptake, because before she knows it she’s being dragged off the living room floor and tugged down onto Brittany’s lap in the armchair. Brittany’s soft and warm and blushing under her, and Santana’s thankful for the darkened living room because it hides her own blush as she sinks into Brittany’s arms, Brittany’s admission to her mom earlier at the forefront of her mind. 

“Hi,” Brittany whispers as Pierce searches through the channels to find whatever one is playing the movie.

Santana sucks in a deep breath; from where she’s perched she can feel every breath Brittany takes, every tiny movement of her thighs, every stroke of her hands over her own legs, burning her fingerprints into Santana’s skin with her touch. “Hi,” she manages. 

The armchair is tucked into the corner, not private but a little bit removed from the other occupants in the room. Brittany adjusts them a little more, wiggling around underneath Santana until she can grab the bowls of snacks beside the armchair and pass them to Santana as she manhandles Santana until they’re both more comfortable, Santana’s butt tucked between the arm of the chair and Brittany’s thighs, her legs draped over Brittany’s so she’s curled completely into Brittany’s lap.

There’s still ten minutes before the movie so Whitney offers to get drinks for everyone, disappearing to the kitchen while Pierce and Brittany’s sister get into a discussion about the best Christmas movies of all time.

Brittany’s fingers tracing small hearts on her legs draws Santana’s attention away from an argument about the merits of _Elf_ versus _The Santa Clause_ , both of which are obviously inferior to _Home Alone_ , the best Christmas movie ever, in Santana’s humble and obviously correct opinion.

When Santana meets blue eyes through the dim of the living room she’s suddenly struck by the realization of how much she wants to be doing this for the rest of forever.

“I’m really glad you came today,” Brittany whispers, her breath warm and sweet from chocolate and honey roasted peanuts, “I just— Having you here was just— It was—”

“I know,” Santana says quietly, her smile making her cheeks ache from how wide it is, “I know what you mean.”

Brittany hums and her hands relocate to loop around Santana’s waist and hug her tightly. Santana sighs and leaves the bowl of snacks in her lap to balance against gravity on its own as she wraps her arms around Brittany and nuzzles into her. “Yeah, that’s,” Brittany starts and then seems to lose her thoughts as Santana’s lips press fleetingly to the sensitive skin of her neck. “That’s,” she tries again, but then gives up and just cuddles Santana to her instead of trying to form a coherent thought.

Their snacks are long forgotten—as are their drinks once Whitney returns with them—as they just cuddle in the darkness and watch the movie, Brittany’s fingers trailing along Santana’s legs and Santana’s playing with Brittany’s hair, occasionally grabbing Brittany’s fingers to play with to throughout the movie.

Just as the Grinch is in the middle of stealing Christmas from the Whos, Brittany’s lips find her ear in the dark, pressing briefly to the peak of her cheekbone before they locate their target. “There’s nothing I want more than to do this next year too,” she breathes, like she’s standing at a wishing well with her eyes shut tight and a penny clutched in her hand, like she’s making her greatest wish in the world before flicking her penny into the darkness, like she’s hoping more than anything that it will come true.

Santana turns her head a little so she can look into Brittany’s eyes, her lips hitting Brittany’s nose on the way past. “Me too,” she promises quietly.

Brittany’s eyes soften and melt and Santana falls straight into the adoration and love sparkling there and she knows—she _knows—_ more than she’s ever known anything else in her entire life, that she’s going to be falling in love with those blue eyes every single day for as long as Brittany will have her.


	22. oh, remember how good it could be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany says goodbye to her family; Santana has a godawful day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY SO not only did a bunch of stuff pop up today, but every time I tried to send in my last exam and assignment of the semester it kept bouncing back ALL DAY because my prof’s inbox was too full and/or she was receiving too much mail? So I’ve been PANICKED because it’s due today, but luckily she’s a really understanding prof and knows me really well so hopefully I can get it sent in tomorrow and I won’t spontaneously combust from anxiety because of this. But I was too busy panicking about that to even think about today’s chapter, so it’s a little late, but tomorrow’s will definitely be up before noon!
> 
> ANYWAYS. On to the chapter!

Brittany wakes up Saturday morning with her sister’s hand in her face. She groans and shoves it off, her sister grumbling in her sleep as she rolls away from Brittany and drags most of the covers with her.

It takes her a moment before she registers that she’s not back home in high school, her sister having crawled into her bed in the middle of the night during a thunderstorm, but that she’s in her apartment, in Manhattan, actually physically with her family for the first time in _years_.

It’s almost too much and she has to quickly blink back tears. 

It sucks that they already have to go home, because Brittany would have them stay here forever if she could, but even being able to spend the time she has with them is far more than she ever thought she would get this year; being able to spend _Christmas_ with them, even if it was a couple days before, is beyond Brittany’s wildest dreams.

Of course, falling in love with Santana was beyond her wildest dreams too, so she isn’t actually too surprised that Santana actually managed to pull off a real life Christmas miracle.

Her sister grumbles and tugs the blankets all the way with her, and Brittany is left shivering in the cold air of Mercedes’ room, Mercedes herself off staying the night at Sam’s so the Pierces could all stay together while Brittany gave her own room up for her parents.

She walks out into the kitchen to the smell of her dad’s chocolate chip smily face pancakes and her mom at the table with a coffee working on a crossword on her phone. The scene is so achingly familiar that she feels, for just a second, like she’s back in high school and her parents are scolding her for sleeping in as she quickly hugs them good morning before rushing out the door.

She’s pretty sure she could never ever repay Santana for what she’s done by bringing her family to her, even if it was only for a couple days. She gives her mom a tight hug as she passes the table before heading to the kitchen to make a coffee and help her dad; she’s not very good in the kitchen, not like he is, but she’s really good at being his helper, she has been since she could waddle up to him on shaky toddler legs and demand to be picked up and set on the counter so she could watch him work. 

Her sister wanders in as soon as all the work is done and it’s so familiar and normal that Brittany laughs a little, shaking her head when her family all looks at her curiously. “I just can’t believe you’re all here,” she mumbles, and her mom wraps an arm around her shoulder and tugs her into a tight hug.

They eat with the same teasing ease they’ve always had, and it’s so surreal to Brittany to watch them in living, breathing flesh and not grainy pixels; her sister helps her wash up the dishes and they end up in an argument just like they always do whenever they clean up together, and as soon as they step out of the kitchen it’s like nothing happened, their parents rolling their eyes at their bickering daughters, unable to understand how they go straight from complaining and name-calling to playful and affectionate conversation in the space of a couple seconds. It used to give their parents whiplash, the instant switch from screaming straight into wondering what video game they were going to play after homework was done, but they’re more than used to it now, because that’s just how sisters are sometimes.

Everyone showers in turn and before Brittany knows it, they’re heading out the door so she can drive them to the airport, Mercedes car left in her car just for that reason. They keep up the playful teasing all the way to the airport because it’s so engrained in their family, trying to ignore their impending separation for another indefinite amount of time. Her sister sits up front with Brittany and they argue about the music and the heating and Brittany feels so much joy when she glances at her sister to find her grinning right back at her, until their mom finally intervenes and puts a stop to it from the backseat, rolling her eyes at the fact that her now grown daughters still argue like little kids when you really get them together, name-calling and stuck out tongues and mocking mimicry included.

Brittany walks them to security and takes a deep breath so she doesn’t start crying; it proves useless when she sees how teary her parents are as she hugs them tightly, hoping she doesn’t wake up and find the last couple days were actually just a dream. Even her sister starts crying, trying to play it cool but ending up clinging to Brittany and wiping her tears into the collar of Brittany’s sweater. Their goodbye is made even more bittersweet by the fact that their time together was so short and they have absolutely no clue when they’ll see each other again, but Brittany wouldn’t trade the short days she had with them for anything.

Her dad wraps his arms around her and squeezes as tightly as he can, Brittany bending to bury her head in his shoulder and wishing she could shrink down to when she was still shorter than him and he would to swing her up into the air, both of them giggling like crazy people as she flew into the sun before he caught her in his wiry arms again. 

Her mom gets impatient as her dad hugs her, and Brittany can feel his smirk at making her wait against her shoulder before Brittany gives a watery laugh and he finally releases her, ushering her into her mom’s arms. 

Her mom’s embrace is warm and comforting as Brittany tucks against her neck; as tall as Brittany grew, she never outgrew her mom, and while it caused her mom to mercilessly tease Brittany—as if her husband and other daughter weren’t even shorter—it also means that Brittany can still curl herself against her mom and let her chase all the scary things away, even if she’s grown now and lived on her own for so long.

They finally all manage to collect themselves enough to say their final goodbyes, each of them tugging Brittany into another quick hug in turn. Some of her mom’s last words echoing in her head as she heads back out to the parking lot and drives back to the theatre, and before she knows it she’s pulling down and side street and heading into the same florist shop where she bought those flowers for Santana’s mom.

She picks out a bouquet of blush pink roses and creamy daisies and full-bloom peonies—which Brittany used to think were _pennies_ when she was little—and chats with the florist while he rings her purchase through, and this time when he teases her a little Brittany just grins and blushes as pink as the roses.

_Don’t let go of that girl, sweetie_ , her mom had told her, and she smiles at the flowers now resting on the passenger seat. 

She has no intention of _ever_ doing that.

* * *

Brittany only manages to catch Santana at intermission during the evening show. She can tell she’s overwhelmed, and from what Brittany’s heard in passing and Santana’s apologetic texts at supper saying she can’t get away today, she has every reason to be. The matinee was a disaster backstage right from the start, with more malfunctions than Brittany could even count; the fly system was on the fritz again leaving Karofsky desperately scratching his head to figure it out, the prop department had almost completely fallen apart when some water was found pooled on the floor in the prop room and everyone freaked out looking through the props to see if any were damaged and barely holding it together to get through the afternoon, and the theatrical producer, Sue Sylvester, is backstage overseeing everything for the first time since the show’s opening. And that was before supper when a bunch of the corps members went out to eat as a group and all ended up with food poisoning.

Brittany had just kept her distance, not wanting to distract Santana when so much was happening at once, and instead sent her smiles whenever she caught her eye in the rehearsal room or in passing backstage, pride flaring brightly in her chest whenever she noticed the tension drain out of Santana when they caught eyes.

A gentle hand on the small of her back alerts her to Santana’s presence, and she softens as she turns to greet her. She’s frazzled and exhausted, her mouth drawn in a tight line that only relaxes when Brittany smiles at her, her ponytail a little messy and not in its usual impeccable condition, and her headset a little lopsided on her head. Brittany reaches out and adjusts it so it sits better on her head, her fingers trailing over Santana’s cheeks as she drops her hands, feeling the heat of Santana’s blush burn against her skin.

“I heard you’ve been having quite the day,” Brittany whispers like it’s a secret.

Santana’s eyes light up at Brittany’s words, or maybe her tone, or maybe just Brittany herself if she feels anything like Brittany does, even as her face twists up into a little scowl; it’s the same one she has when she’s waking up, and Brittany doesn’t want to get ahead of herself—though sometimes when you know something you just _know_ it and it’s pointless to pretend otherwise—but she kinda wants to see that little grump on Santana’s face every morning for the rest of, like, forever. 

“I’m pretty sure I woke up into my own personal hell this morning,” Santana complains, and despite the tough façade she puts on for everyone else, there’s a hint of a petulant whine in her voice that Brittany’s pretty sure she shows to no one else but Brittany, and it makes Brittany feel like the most important person in the world.

“Well, the day’s almost done,” Brittany soothes, before she bounces a little and grins at Santana. “Plus,” she drawls, her voice a playful singsong, “I _may_ have a little something for you in my dressing room after the show.”

Santana softens and brightens at the same time. “Yeah?”

Brittany nods eagerly; it might just be something small, especially considering yesterday, but Brittany kind of can’t wait to give the flowers to Santana and see the look on her face. She’s always been impatient to give out gifts as soon as she buys them, to the point that her parents used to hide the presents she got for her sister from Brittany herself just so she wouldn’t hand them out early. 

She’s about to continue to playfully tease Santana with the prospect of a surprise, when Quinn rushes up to them, already halfway through explaining some new emergency before Brittany can even blink. Brittany’s been working with the New York City Ballet for years now, and been in so many ballet productions before she was even hired here, but she still can barely follow Quinn’s words. Despite how closely the company and the crew work together, it’s always amazed her how different the two worlds of performing and backstage work is; getting so close with Santana only furthered her amazement at everything that went on backstage that most of the dancers are completely oblivious to.

Santana grumbles at whatever situation is going on—something about the sound department, which Brittany knows never means anything good—and her and Quinn have a quick back and forth until they finally seem to resolve it.

“God I hate talking to you in person,” Quinn says.

Brittany stifles and glares at Quinn, about to go off on her when Santana’s laughter stops her. “It’s awful,” Santana agrees, glancing at Brittany with a soft smile playing on her lips at Brittany’s incredulous and protective expression before she gestures at her headset, “It’s really like hearing a constant echo.”

Brittany lets out a breath and gives Santana a sheepish grin, her body relaxing a little. “I’ve always wondered what it’s like to wear those,” she says aloud, “I have enough voices in my head anyways, what’s a couple more?”

Quinn stares at her blankly but Santana grins and giggles, causing Quinn to smile uneasily. 

“You’re a goof,” Santana says around her laughter. Brittany shrugs and tries to pretend she doesn’t feel like she’s glowing under Santana’s warm gaze.

“You wanna try?” Quinn finally manages, “I gotta run to the bathroom anyways.”

Brittany grins and bounces on her toes as Quinn passes her headset over before hurrying away, the time she actually has for a bathroom break far too short. Brittany presses the headset to her ear, unable to put it on without wrecking her hair, and her and Santana spend long moments just smiling at each other.

“See, it’s really weird,” Santana finally says, and Brittany blinks in surprise at the echo in her ear that almost overlaps Santana’s words.

“Wow,” Brittany says in wonder, “It’s like seeing double, but in my ears instead.”

Santana giggles at the look on Brittany’s face. “It’s super trippy,” she agrees.

“Trippy?” Brittany asks incredulously, amused and adoring and so giddy-perfect-in-love, “ _Trippy_? Did we just jump back to the 70s?”

Santana giggles a little but tries to stifle it as she adopts a mock serious look. “I can’t reveal my time travel abilities just yet,” she says sternly.

The echo effect remains just as weird no matter how long Brittany hears it. “Okay, okay, I will concede that trippy is the best way to describe—”

And then Schue’s voice is crackling over the headset with a desperate _I think I’m going to be sick_. Brittany’s eyes widen as her and Santana stare at each other, more voices overlapping each other as everyone clambers to talk to Schue and, then, the unmistakable sounds of Schue getting sick.

Everything over the line dies down to utter silence for a moment, and then Santana blinks. “ _Fuck_ ,” she says, her voice echoing around the headset. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mutters. 

Quinn shows up in the middle of Santana’s cursing and glances at Brittany in slowly growing concern. Brittany takes the headset off and hands it back to Quinn. “Schue just vomited,” Brittany explains.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

“Fuck!”

* * *

Brittany has absolutely no clue how Santana manages it, but she does make it through the show, not only salvaging the disaster of a day but keeping the show together well enough that it even manages to impress Sylvester.

The knock on the door startles Brittany a little even as she’s expecting it, so she quickly grabs the flowers from off the coffee table and tucks it behind her back before she calls “Come in!”

Santana walks into the dim dressing room, lit only by the light of the bathroom, with her shoulders slumped, looking absolutely dead on her feet. “I’ve never been more tired in my life,” she greets.

“Oh, honey,” Brittany coos.

Santana meets her eyes and her shoulders relax, her smile becomes soft and bright as she closes the door behind her, realizing that Brittany is hiding something behind her back. “What’s that?” she asks even though they both know very well that Santana knows it’s her surprise.

Brittany grins a little and rocks back on her feet, motioning Santana towards her with a small jerk of her chin. Santana wanders slowly into the room, until she’s right in front of Brittany and, while Brittany would like to keep the surprise as long as she can, she can’t take the soft look on Santana’s face anymore and she quickly whips the flowers out from behind her back and shoves them at Santana.

Santana freezes in spot, her pretty lips parted and her eyes all melting and liquid adoration. “Brittany,” she breathes, and Brittany can do little more than shrug at her.

“They’re a thank you,” Brittany whispers, “for the last few days. I know it doesn’t really begin to repay you or anything but—”

“They’re perfect,” Santana interrupts, “They’re— I mean— No one’s ever gotten me flowers before.”

Brittany’s mind stalls in her attempts to thank Santana for bringing her family here. “Really?” she says quietly, and at Santana’s nod these flowers suddenly feel like the most important gift she’s ever given. “Well I’m glad no one ever has,” Brittany admits bravely, taking a deep breath at Santana’s questioning look, “Because I don’t want you to ever have to get flowers from anyone else.”

She can hear Santana’s breath hitch at the words, and Brittany’s own heart pounds everywhere at how much love is pouring from Santana’s eyes and Santana’s smile and Santana’s everything. 

Santana takes the flowers and places them on the coffee table before turning back to Brittany and taking both of her hands into hers, rising first her right and then her left to her mouth so she can shower kisses all over Brittany’s knuckles. Brittany doesn’t think she could ever feel happier than she does right now, but then Santana lowers their tangled hands and smiles up at Brittany with the same look in her eye from last Monday at the stairs to her apartment, when their eyes met and their lips started to drift together.

“Thank you,” Santana whispers, and their toes brush together from how close the are.

Brittany shakes her head quickly. “No, thank _you_. You did— And I can’t even— You gave me so much, and I didn’t get you anything,” Brittany pouts, but Santana is already shaking her head.

“No, I didn’t,” Santana whispers.

“Yes, you did. It’s too much,” Brittany protests, but Santana quickly hushes her by tightening her fingers around Brittany’s, tugging them even closer together.

“It’s not. If I could spend one more Christmas with my mom—” Santana breaks off and sucks in a sharp breath before she manages a small, genuine smile. “I don’t want you to ever have to feel like that.”

Brittany just shakes her head, wordlessly for a moment as she tries to process how sweet and amazing and loving Santana is to her. “Still,” she finally manages, “I know we kinda had an unspoken agreement to not celebrate Christmas at all, but let me get you something. Please.”

Santana just smiles at her as if she’s the brightest star in the night sky and Brittany’s heart melts into her stomach, all warmth and love. Santana shakes her head, her eyes bright and liquid and melting. “Don’t you see, Brittany?” she murmurs, “You’ve already given me so much. Yesterday was the first time since I was fifteen that Christmas wasn’t just me and my mom. And it was the first time in four years that I didn’t sit at home angry and miserable. This is the first time in so long I don’t feel alone. Your family gave me that,” she whispers, releasing one of Brittany’s hands to reach up and cup her cheek, “ _You_ gave me that, not just yesterday but all month. You made me love Christmas again, you helped me start to heal, and there’s absolutely nothing you could ever get me that’s worth more than that.”

Brittany can do little more than sigh and melt into Santana, nuzzling against the warm palm pressed to her jaw, fingers tickling at her ear. “Thank you,” she breathes, “For bringing my family here.”

“And thank you,” Santana murmurs, “for letting me into your family.”

Brittany nods and squeezes Santana’s hand, bringing her free one up to tangle around their already intertwined fingers. Santana’s eyes are warm and soft as they dart down to Brittany’s lips, and before Brittany can process what’s happening, Santana is drawing her face towards her own by the hand cupped around her jaw, her lips are pressing the softest kiss to the corner of her mouth. She gasps, almost against Santana’s lips, her heart pounding quick and bright throughout her entire body and she leans further into Santana even as Santana falls back from her tiptoes.

“Mistletoe,” Santana whispers.

“Huh?” Brittany says dumbly.

Santana looks up to the ceiling with a small smile, and Brittany follows her gaze, finding a small twig of mistletoe that she’s pretty sure wasn’t there this morning; in fact she’s pretty positive that wasn’t there before Mercedes showed up for the evening show. Brittany glances back down, studying the soft and relaxed look on Santana’s face, feeling something liquid and warm burst in her chest for how much she loves the woman in front of her. When Santana’s eyes meet hers, Brittany is already ducking towards Santana’s lips, and they part in a smile of anticipation as she tilts her chin up a little, patiently waiting for Brittany.

Santana’s breath hits her face first, and then she can feel Santana’s nose nudge against hers as her eyelashes flutter closed against the peak of Brittany’s cheek. Brittany’s nose brushes Santana’s top lip as they search to find the right angle before they press their lips together, and Brittany’s heart pounds heavily in her ears as her lips is a hair away from Santana’s and then—

The knock on the door startles them apart, jerking back until they’re only connected by their tangled hands as the door opens and Mercedes wanders in, talking about something that, frankly, Brittany doesn’t care about.

Mercedes trails off as she realizes she’s the subject of wide-eyed frustration and disbelief. She takes in the flustered looks on both of their faces, the glare in Brittany’s eyes, the mistletoe she hung above them, and the way their hands tangle desperately together, and she has the grace to look completely apologetic at the realization that she probably just interrupted. 

“I’m sorry!” she squeaks. “I didn’t— I’ll just—”

Brittany’s incapable of actual words at the moment, so she just shakes her head. Santana sighs beside her, and her fingers squeeze softly at Brittany’s before she starts to pull away. “I have a couple things to take care of before I leave today anyways.” Brittany nods and just watches as Santana picks her flowers up off the coffee table, pausing to breathe the in deeply before she turns back to Brittany. “I’ll see you tomorrow?” she asks quietly.

Brittany nods and manages a raspy, “See you.”

Santana steps up to her with a small smile on her face. “Thanks again for the flowers,” she whispers and, mindful of their audience, bounces up on her toes to press a soft, lingering kiss to Brittany’s cheek, one hand on Brittany’s jaw to steady herself, the other tightening around the flowers in her arm and crinkling the plastic, and then she’s slipping past Mercedes and down the hall.

And then she’s gone, Brittany’s lips aching with the missed chance.

Mercedes opens her mouth to say something but snaps it closed at the look on Brittany’s face, both dreamy and frustrated, as she grabs her jacket and phone and keys and wallet before crossing the room. Mercedes backs away, letting Brittany silently close and lock her door as they turn to leave.

“I’m sorry I interrupted your kiss,” Mercedes says quietly as they walk down the hall.

“Almost.”

“Hmm?”

Brittany sighs deeply, her body still buzzing at how close Santana’s lips were to hers, how close she was to _finally_ feel Santana’s lips against hers, not yet realizing that it’s going to get no follow through tonight. “Almost kiss. We were just _about_ to kiss when you barged in.”

“I am really sorry, Britt,” Mercedes says honestly, and Brittany’s about to accept her sincere apology when Mercedes’ smile turns wicked, “Although it’s been this long and you still haven’t kissed that girl? Seriously? This is on you!”

“Oh shut up,” Brittany grumbles, “What do you even know anyways?”

“I know you apparently move at the speed of a glacier.”

“Rude!”

“Kiss her already.”

“I’m trying!”


	23. old excitement makes people happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brittany has a very important question; Santana starts to find a little bit of resolution.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the patience yesterday! I think my assignment and my exam finally sent cause they haven’t bounced back yet? So I think I’m officially DONE the semester thank god lmao

Brittany is the very first person to show up to the rehearsal, an hour before they’re going to start, which is weird because Brittany’s not scheduled for any rehearsals today.

The surprising sight of Brittany this early in the morning is far from unwelcome though, and Santana’s entire body starts buzzing just from her mere presence, still on high alert from how close Brittany’s lips were to hers. It seems every time they try to kiss they inch a _little_ closer before being interrupted; if Santana were a more superstitious person than she is, she would be a little worried that the universe was trying to sabotage them. As it is, that’s only a thought she entertains when she wakes up with a start at three in the morning, and she tries harder to be the optimist she never was and instead keep her mind on the fact that third time’s the charm.

“Hey,” Santana greets with a wide smile, shuffling her papers all together on the top of the baby grand piano, trying to gather her heart as it leaps towards Brittany, “What are you doing here so early?”

“Well,” Brittany drawls as she steps fully through the door and crosses the rehearsal room, singsong the word all the way until she reaches the opposite side of the piano too, “I have a question.”

Santana smiles and makes a soft acknowledging sound. Brittany’s cheeks are splotched in pink and she’s chewing on her lip, blue eyes looking everywhere but straight at Santana, and can’t imagine what would even make Brittany so nervous. 

Brittany runs her hand along the shallow inner curve of the piano edge for a long moment, collecting her thoughts, and Santana just patiently lets her. “I was wondering,” she starts and then trails off. There’s a beat of silence but then Brittany takes a deep breath and Santana can actually see that thread of steel that fills Brittany’s body like liquid courage as she finally meets Santana’s eyes; the playful and adoring sparkle in them takes Santana’s breath away just like it always does. “I was wondering if you had any plans for Christmas Eve tomorrow or maybe even possibly Christmas Day?”

Santana bites down on her smile so she doesn’t overwhelm Brittany by fainting or something, but it does nothing to stop the surge of love and adoration that shoots through her body. “You know I don’t,” Santana teases, because she can’t help making Brittany fluster just a tiny bit more.

“Well in that case,” Brittany says, and then takes another deep breath, “I was thinking that since I don’t have plans and you don’t have plans then maybe we could, like, have no plans together. Possibly at my apartment?” she adds like a question, and Santana’s speechless for a couple moments while she’s trying to convince her heart not to run away to Brittany; at this point she’s pretty sure it’d be too late anyways because Brittany seems to be the keeper of that particular organ.

“I’d love to,” Santana says with a soft smile, feeling everything that’s bright and warm and happy well up inside her body.

“Yeah?” Brittany breathes, bouncing on her toes a little bit, waiting until Santana nods to let her smile grow until her eyes are scrunched up by her cheeks. Santana can see the exact moment that Brittany gives up on keeping her happiness contained and instead rounds the piano to reach Santana and pull her into her arms, tucking her head against Santana’s neck and nuzzling her nose there. 

Santana thinks about everything she could say, love declarations or a cool façade, a million promises or the only one that matters, but instead she just settles on the simplest words she knows, mumbling her _Yeah_ against Brittany’s shoulder and she supposes it’s enough because she can feel Brittany’s smile against her neck and it’s kind of the best feeling in the world.

They remain caught up in each other until a knock on the door smooths reluctantly draws them apart, Brittany’s hands trailing down Santana’s arms until they can tangle their fingers together, her smile still wide and uninhibited.

“It’s probably Brad,” Santana finally says, “I should go let him in.”

Neither of them make try to move though, until the third knock and finally prompts Santana to reluctantly release Brittany’s hands and go to the door.

* * *

Just like when Santana was getting ready to go have supper with the Pierces, she’s a little nervous about spending Christmas with Brittany; not because of Brittany or anything, and it’s not even a bad nervous, it’s just about what it all means. She’s in love with Brittany, and she’s like ninety-nine percent sure that Brittany returns her feelings, but still, Santana worries about everything just by nature, especially the big important things.

And just like before, Mike, Tina, Quinn, and Mike all refuse to stop teasing her as soon as they find out, Mike and Tina unable to hide the fact that they’re secretly over the moon for Santana. She really couldn’t care less about any of their knowing looks or suggestive comments because joke’s on them, _she_ gets to spend Christmas with the most amazing girl in the world and none of them are invited.

Her and Brittany eat supper together and then get recruited into being Mercedes’ Christmas elves by helping her wrap all her presents for her nieces and nephews; Brittany doesn’t mind wrapping even if she’s not very good, but Santana is meticulous and stubborn and, though she takes forever, her folds are perfect. When they’re nearing the end of the presents, Mercedes’ phone ringing startles all of them and she quickly steps out into the hallway, and all it takes is Brittany smacking Santana on the ass with a wrapping paper roll before they’re in an all out war.

Brittany has the height advantage over her, but Santana is nothing if not stubborn, and she just keeps going at Brittany without minding how much she gets beat on with the wrapping paper roll, both of them giggling too hard to smack each other with any amount of finesse. 

Mercedes comes back to Brittany trapped in a corner of the dressing room and trying to ward of Santana’s blows, Brittany’s wrapping paper roll uncoiling and bent in half and Santana’s looking more limp noodle than not. At Mercedes’ teasing chiding, it takes little more than a look before Brittany and Santana turn and gang up on her, beating her back to the couch until they all collapse there, laughing and relaxed and Santana doesn’t feel lonely at all, just incredibly loved. For a moment everything is quiet and comfortable before Brittany loudly announces that she’s going to the bathroom and disappears before Mercedes and Santana can even acknowledge it.

Mercedes instantly turns to Santana and gives her a tiny smile. “Listen, about the other day when I went all protective best friend, I just wanted to say sorry for expecting the worst.”

“It’s fine,” Santana smiles little and shrugs off Mercedes’ apology, “I totally get why you want to protect her but I— I don’t think I could ever hurt her without hurting myself more.” 

Mercedes smiles and quickly pulls Santana into a tight hug. “You know,” she says into Santana’s ear, “You’re not at all who I pictured Brittany would fall in love with, but somehow you’re everything I pictured for her too.” 

“Love?” Santana whispers, trying to keep her her hope under control, but it flutters around in her stomach in the form of hundreds of bright butterflies.

Mercedes pulls back and grins, her hands warm and comforting on Santana’s shoulders. “What are you blind? That girl is so in love with you,” Mercedes promises, “I’ve been teasing her about how dreamy and blushy she gets whenever I even just mention you for _weeks_. I’d know, I am the protective best friend after all.”

Santana laughs and relaxes a little bit; Mercedes has basically just confirmed everything she suspected and it’s comforting to hear it from Brittany’s best friend, but she doesn’t think she’ll be able to completely believe it until she hears it from the source herself. Santana grins and shrugs a little. “I have protective best friends too,” she teases, “Mike’s given the third degree to every single girl I went on more than one date with.”

Mercedes grins, delighted. “I never would have guessed, but I can also totally see that. He plays the brother role so well.” She nudges Santana with her elbow. “How many girls has he scared off on you?”

Santana smirks and shrugs. “Oh he does a lot of questioning but he’s not who Brittany has to worry about. Tina’s so much more intimidating than him.”

Their laughter draws Brittany’s attention as she steps out of the bathroom, and when she softens as she looks at Santana every single doubt she has drains out of her from the adoration brimming in those blue eyes. 

“See?” Mercedes whispers softly beside her, “I told you so.”

“Oh shut up you,” Santana says but there’s no bite to her tone. She has all the fierceness of a kitten revealing their soft underbelly and begging for scratches, and Mercedes can’t help smiling a little as Brittany and Santana make eyes at each other.

She was right all those weeks ago, they’re absolutely _smitten_ with each other.

* * *

Mercedes disappears after they’re done, Sam showing up to help her haul the presents back to her car, their arms equally overflowing with presents. They still have a bunch of time left of their supper break, so Brittany and Santana end up sitting on the floor in front of the couch like aways, cuddling close together in comfortable silence or quiet teasing each other with an ease born of absolute adoration and friendship.

“You know,” Brittany says casually, rolling her head to look the side to look at Santana fully, her fingers trailing over Santana’s bicep where her arm is wrapped around Santana’s shoulders. “We’re not really friends,” she drawls teasingly, “You haven’t accepted my friend request from _ages_ ago.” 

Santana shoves at Brittany’s shoulder and giggles. “You goof, you only sent it when your mom was teasing you about the fact that me and her were Facebook friends but the two of us weren’t. I watched you do it.” 

“And yet you still haven’t accepted it,” Brittany pouts, “You big meanie.”

Santana giggles again and rolls her eyes as she digs her phone out of her pocket. “Fine,” she teases, “I’ll do it right now.” She opens her Facebook app toa horrendous amount of notifications that she quickly opens for like the first time in ever, getting rid of the red from everywhere before she opens the friend request tab. Brittany grabs her own phone off the coffee table while Santana’s app loads, waiting for to watch her friend request to be accepted. 

Brittany’s request is the second request at the top of the screen, right under her sister’s, but its the name that’s below Brittany’s that freezes every cell in Santana’s body as she stares blankly at the name, reading and rereading it over and over in an attempt to understand what it means and why it was sent and whether it’s real or not.

Brittany shifts beside her and leans over to look at Santana’s phone, wondering what the hold up is. “Who’s Alma Lopez?” she asks quietly, obviously realizing what’s caught Santana’s attention.

Santana clears her throat and shakes her head wordlessly for a moment. “My abuela,” she finally manages to mumble, and there’s a split second of confusion before Brittany’s face floods in sympathetic understanding.

“Oh, honey,” she whispers, tightening the arm she has around Santana and tugging her as close as she can, dragging Santana onto her lap. 

Santana just shakes her head wordlessly again, disbelief warring with bitterness warring with dangerous hope in her chest as every old ache she’s ever had flares up and overwhelms her. She lets herself be held and soothed by Brittany’s arms around hers, warm and strong and safe. “I don’t— I don’t understand,” she mutters, and anger starts to win out over all the other emotions, “Why’d she send this? Why now? It’s been a fucking _decade_! Why didn’t she just fucking pick up a phone and call me? A Facebook friend request is the best she could do?”

Brittany’s quiet for a long while, letting Santana rant and release her anger but not loosening her hold on her. When she speaks, it’s only after Santana’s tired herself out with her tirade and slumped back into Brittany’s arms. “Maybe,” she starts hesitantly, “Maybe she didn’t know how to reach out.”

“Well she has a brain, surely she could have figured out something,” Santana mutters, less angry and more bitter now. “She might be in her eighties but she’s not stupid.”

Brittany hums in acknowledgement and the sound buzzes through Santana’s chest and calms her a little. “Maybe she couldn’t—”

“How hard is it to pick up a fucking phone?” Santana interrupts.

“Sorry,” Brittany says after a moment, “I meant, like, maybe she couldn’t find you.” Santana considers that for a moment, turning the over in her head before she gives a tiny shrug, and Brittany takes that as her cue to continue. “She’s your dad’s mom right?” Santana nods against Brittany’s chest, the move nuzzling her closer. “And I’m sure your dad doesn’t have your number.” Santana considers this and nods again, curling her hand around Brittany’s hip and drawing comfort from her warmth. “So maybe once she was ready to reach out to you again she just had no way of finding you. I mean, you said you got rid of your mom’s landline when she died, and that was probably the only number she had.”

Santana wonders, for a moment, if any of her family back in Ohio even know that her mom died; they were all her dad’s family, and once Santana and her moved to New York they never once tried to reach out again. She wonders if abuela knows that her mom died, if that’s when abuela pulled her head out of her ass and tried to reach out, if abuela is hurting as much as Santana is from the estrangement.

“I hate when you’re being all logical and genius-like,” Santana finally mutters.

Brittany presses a long kiss to the top of Santana’s head and she can feel the smile against her hair. “I could be wrong, and if I am I’m so sorry to get your hopes up. But I don’t want you to be sad at Christmas, not when we both just got happy again.”

“I can’t be sad around you, Britt,” Santana mumbles, hiding her blush in Brittany’s neck, “You make me too happy for the sad thoughts to stay around too long.”

“You make me so happy too. But I’m the happiest when I’m making you happy,” Brittany admits, her voice tight and watery, “And I’d really like to continue making you happy.”

Santana smiles and purses her lips to kiss the skin against her mouth, soft and lingering. “Then just be here,” she says, “That makes me happy. When you’re here with me.”

Brittany sighs and they sink further into the couch, Santana drawing comfort from Brittany before she works up the courage to open her phone and look at her abuela’s Facebook page. She’s more than a little shocked to find that the first picture on the page is a picture of her, young and surrounded by Christmas wrapping paper, beaming up at the camera with an easy bake oven her abuela had gotten her so she could _bake just like abuela._ There’s no caption, but it abuela shared it just a couple days ago, and it makes Santana’s heart ache to know that her abuela might not hate her anymore. A little further down there’s a shared link about George Balanchine’s _The Nutcracker_ and the new production stage manager they suddenly hired, and then there’s another picture of a young Santana posted on her birthday, and a couple more from random days; what really catches Santana’s attention is the fact that her abuela never captions any of them, but Santana can feel the regret radiating off of them anyways.

It’s enough to bring tears to her eyes and she quickly turns away and buries her face into Brittany’s chest, blinking back tears and willing herself to breathe deeply.

“What do you want to do?” Brittany asks softly.

Santana thinks for a long moment, weighing her options and letting Brittany’s fingers trailing over her arms comfort her. “I think,” she starts slowly, “That I’m going to wait until after Christmas to make a decision.”

“Yeah?” Brittany murmurs against her hair.

“Yeah,” Santana confirms, and then she cuddles back into Brittany’s arms, dropping her phone on the floor beside Brittany’s hip, “I just want to spend the next couple days with you.”

Brittany’s breath catches and jerks Santana against her chest a little, Santana nuzzling closer until she can find Brittany’s heartbeat, everything about Brittany softening and comforting her until all of her anxiety and anger regarding her abuela is a distant thought compared to how right it feels to be wrapped up in Brittany’s arms.

“I’d like that too,” Brittany whispers, and Santana just hums and snuggles closer.


	24. watching old movies while the fireplace fades

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Nutcracker has its last show; Santana and Brittany spend Christmas Eve together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We’re almost there fam! Also the actual George Balanchine’s The Nutcracker doesn’t stop after Christmas and goes up to December 30th at least, but just for simplicity’s sake I’m taking artistic liberties and in this universe the ballet’s last show is today.

The last show of the production’s run is at two, but Brittany still gets up early to help Mercedes finish up the last of her packing. She’s leaving with Sam as soon as the show is over tonight to head back home until New Year’s, her and Sam heading to her parents’ place first and then his; usually the company and crew will have a wrap-up party as soon as the last show is done, but with it being Christmas Eve and all, this production of _The Nutcracker_ usually skips that tradition so everyone has more time with their families and has it sometime between Christmas and New Year’s. 

Mercedes is just zipping up her suitcase when Brittany wanders into her room, yawning and absently pulling her messy hair up into an even messier bun. “Nee’ ‘elp?” she mumbles.

Mercedes giggles and rolls her eyes. “You’re only wearing one sock,” she comments mildly.

Brittany looks down, too tired to feel surprised, and shrugs. “Lefty was too hot,” she says nonchalantly, and Mercedes bursts into giggles. “I’ll help you take your stuff out to the living room.”

Mercedes hefts her suitcase off of the bed and motions to the pile of wrapped gifts in the corner of her room, all neatly packed into couple of reusable grocery bags. “You can grab those.”

“What time is Sam picking us up?” Brittany asks as she trails after Mercedes. 

“Like, nine thirty-ish?”

“Cool,” Brittany says, “I’ll have time to tidy up then.”

“Why?”

Brittany feels a blush creep into her cheeks before she can even think to try and hide it, which probably would have proved useless anyways, since Mercedes has, like, hawk eyes when it comes to Brittany’s embarrassment. 

Mercedes, sure enough, looks back and instantly spots Brittany’s blush, her grin taking on a wicked edge. “Oooh, is your _girlfriend_ coming over?”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Brittany mumbles automatically, but even as she says the words it kind of feels like she’s lying.

“In all but name maybe,” Mercedes says, and Brittany has to concede her point.

“The name part of that is kind of important,” Brittany argues as she drops the presents beside Mercedes’ suitcase.

“Maybe,” Mercedes concedes, “But the feelings part is pretty important too, and that’s definitely there.”

Brittany smiles a little, almost involuntarily, as the thought of being in love with Santana still fills her with bright warmth, and hums in acknowledgement. “I invited her to spend Christmas Eve here since neither of us had any plans.”

“I’m happy for you, Brittany,” Mercedes says softly, and Brittany grins bashfully down at her toes, too distracted by the warmth blooming in her chest realize that Mercedes has started smirking at her. “Just don’t christen any public places please.”

“Mercedes!” Brittany squeals, patting at her cheeks as the blush burning there flares up into an inferno.

“And make sure you kids stay hydrated and well-fed, you don’t want to run out of energy.”

“No no no!” Brittany shrieks, fleeing backwards towards the bathroom, her skin burning bright red from forehead to collarbone, “I take back anything I ever said when you and Sam got together!”

Mercedes smirks because, considering the teasing she got back then, there's no way she's going to give Brittany a break now that she's in love. "Make sure you're safe!" she calls.

“Oh shut up!” Brittany calls back before slamming the bathroom door shut.

* * *

Even though it’s Christmas Eve, the theatre is surprisingly—or not so surprisingly—packed, people already starting to filter into the lobby even as the company and crew take their last lunch break of the show’s run an hour before half hour. Brittany’s always antsy for last shows, both excited for it to be over so she can finally rest (and, this year, spend the evening with Santana) but dreading it because it means that there will never be another show like this, with this particular group of dancers and kids and crew, ever again.

Santana brings her lunch from that sandwich shop she loves, the same place she bought lunch for them that very first time, kickstarting their almost daily lunch and supper dates. Santana doesn’t bother with any pretences, just sinks down to the floor right beside Brittany, taking her left arm and draping it over her shoulder so they can cuddle and eat. Mercedes, Sam, Tina, and Mike all show up about halfway through their break with an assortment of food between all of them, sprawling on the floor to complete the circle in an impromptu picnic and fondly teasing Brittany and Santana as soon as they all realize their spending Christmas together.

Every single time Mercedes catches Brittany’s eye she feels heat crawl up into her cheeks at the knowing glint there. Santana seems to notice something tense—not bad tense, just the knowing and teasing tension when you know your friend is laughing at you across the room—and quickly takes Brittany’s free hand, as soon as they’re both done eating, and pulls it into her lap to play with her fingers, tracing the webbing between each finger and pressing down on her knuckles like piano keys. It eases the blush from Brittany’s cheeks and softens the teasing glint in Mercedes eyes, and Brittany soaks in the feeling of being surrounded by so much love, from her friends and from Santana, before the chaos of the last show overtakes them.

* * *

The audience is electric during Brittany’s last performance, knowing it’s their last chance to see this show until next year, and Brittany dances better than she ever has before, knowing that Santana is hidden in the curtains watching. She dances for the audience and she dances for herself but, mostly, she dances for Santana, for the woman who brought laughter and love into her life, who brought her family to her, who brought her love of Christmas back.

Her bow goes on longer than normal as the audience cheers for her, and she’s breathing quickly as pride fills her limbs in place of heavy exhaustion. She exits the stage to continuing applause, waiting in the wings for Jake to go on and do the opening of the Coda before she joins him. She feels someone watching her, and a smile tugs at her lips before she even turns to catch Santana’s eye, and the smile on Santana’s face makes her stomach flutter with about a bajillion butterflies, her chest blooming with warmth and love.

Santana shakes her head a little, still smiling softly, as if she can’t quite believe that Brittany’s real, and Brittany gives a small wave, feeling her heartbeat everywhere, before she turns back to the stage and prepares to join Jake for the Coda, Santana’s gaze heavy and warm on her back as she steps back into the lights.

* * *

Mercedes helps her out of her costume and unpins her hair quickly so she can rush off to meet Sam and they can try and beat the rush out of the city back to her parents’ house tonight; since it’s the twenty-fourth already, nobody has to pack the show back up into storage until after Christmas.

Mercedes gives Brittany a tight hug before she leaves, still continuing her teasing and making Brittany blush all the way to the tips of her ears as she chases her best friend out the door and runs straight into Santana, who quickly gives Mercedes a brief hug goodbye before turning to Brittany with a wide smile.

“Hi!” Brittany greets brightly, pretending her skin isn’t splotched with pink despite Santana’s adoring gaze on the blush in her cheeks.

“Hey,” Santana says softly. She’s already dressed in her jacket and has a small bag of overnight stuff in one hand, wearing the scarf and hat that Brittany had lent her last week and tying Brittany’s stomach into knots at seeing her own clothes on Santana. “You ready to go?” she asks.

Brittany nods and they just smile at each other for long moments—Brittany taking in this moment, this feeling, this girl—before Brittany turns to shrug on her jacket and collect her things. Santana stands patiently by the door, waiting until Brittany’s locked her dressing room before she reaches out to take her hand, their fingers tangling together easily as they head down the hallway, Brittany quickly easing Santana’s bag from her other hand so she can carry it for her, not missing the smile Santana gives her or the way her stomach ties itself into warm knots at how couple-y it feels.

They wave goodbye and wish _Merry Christmases_ to their friends as the pass them on their way out of the theatre, deciding to walk back to Brittany’s apartment since it’s still pretty nice out despite the snow that falls in gentle swirls of white as they step out onto the street, dusting Santana’s borrowed hat in a thin layer of white and sparkling in her dark lashes. Santana glances up at Brittany and smiles, bright and unabashed and dimples-deep, before looking forward again with that breathless, flustered look she gets when she blushes. Her cheeks are a little pinked, from the cold or her blush Brittany’s not sure, but it makes liquid warmth pool in her stomach, so happy and so in love that she doesn’t know how anything in the world could ever feel better than this.

Her attention is drawn across the street where two men hold the hands of a little boy, helping him take a couple stumbling steps before swinging him into a high arc, his giggles bright with childlike innocence even across the lanes of slow moving traffic.

“He’s cute,” Santana says beside her, drawing Brittany’s eyes back to hers. 

“You’re cute,” Brittany says automatically but sincerely. Santana rolls her eyes a little but doesn’t even bother to bite back her smile. “We should stop on the store on the way past. We can get something for supper and maybe, like, baking stuff or something?”

“Baking?” Santana teases, and Brittany shrugs a little.

“What? I may be a disaster in the kitchen when it comes to baking but I _know_ you aren’t,” Brittany says with a smirk, “Tina told me.”

Santana gasps over-dramatically. “What a traitor!”

Brittany just giggles and tugs a little on Santana’s hand in hers, pulling them even closer together and soaking up this feeling of unbridled joy.

* * *

The grocery store is insane, but they’re in no rush so they just wander the aisles leisurely, dodging over-excited kids and frantic parents and slow old couples, giggling at everyone rushing around despite the fact that they both just feel comfortable and relaxed.

Santana carries their two bags of groceries and snacks since Brittany still has her bag, and they tangle their fingers together again as soon as they step back out into the weak winter sun. It’s already past five, but they’re still in no rush as they head back to Brittany’s apartment, discussing their plans on which Christmas movies they have to watch and which ones they’ll skip.

Brittany takes the groceries from Santana and drops them off in the kitchen, directing Santana to turn the tree on and set up the living room for their movie marathon, before heading down the hall to drop Santana’s bag off too. She stands in the hallway for a long moment, fighting an internal debate before she finally pushes her door open and drops Santana’s bag by the dresser; she’s honestly not being presumptuous, because Mercedes offered her room if needed, she’s just being hopeful.

By the time she gets the groceries put away and a couple hot chocolates made, Santana is already snugged up on the couch, one blanket over her lap and the other around her shoulders, the lights turned off except for the Christmas tree and the television screen; she’s already figured out the DVD player and the empty case to _Home Alone_ sits on the shelf of her and Mercedes’ combined collection. 

Santana brightens as soon as Brittany comes into her view, shifting around until she can lift both blankets up for Brittany. It takes a little bit of maneuvering, but eventually they get settled against each other, curled under the blankets, without spilling a drop of hot chocolate. Santana quickly hits play on the DVD remote before tossing it onto the coffee table and taking her mug from Brittany.

“I used to watch _Home Alone_ every single year,” Santana says quietly, a nostalgic smile on her face, “And I kind of want to restart that tradition.”

“But you’re not home alone,” Brittany teases.

Santana tries to give her a smug smirk but her eyes are as soft as her voice, “Maybe I want to make some new traditions.”

And, really, what can she say to that without shouting her love from the rooftops? So instead she just cuddles further into Santana and sips her hot chocolate. 

Even though they start out sitting under the blankets, as soon as they finish their hot chocolate they end up laying out on the couch, Brittany flat on her back with Santana sprawled on top of her, repurposing Brittany’s breasts into her own personal pillow, and the blankets wrapped around them. Brittany ends up spending more time watching Santana and playing with her hair than she does watching Santana’s favourite Christmas movie, but watching Santana is her favourite thing so it’s a pretty fair tradeoff.

Her mom calls about three-quarters of the way through _Home Alone_ and Santana lifts herself off of Brittany just enough to reach the remote and pause the movie before cuddling back into her while Brittany talks to her mom and curls a strand of Santana’s hair around her finger, and it feels so domestic that she can’t imagine doing anything else for the rest of her life.

After _Home Alone_ they take a break to make supper, giggling the entire time as they weave around each other in the kitchen and end up spending more time laughing than they do eating.

Brittany runs to the bathroom while Brittany sets up another movie, laying back on the couch and waiting for Santana to see her choice.

Santana’s gasp is as satisfying as Brittany thought it would be as she grins up at the ceiling, waiting until Santana rounds the couch to stand in front of her, blocking out the dim lights from the Christmas tree and the title screen for _Gremlins_ on the television.

“Brittany!” Santana whines.

“Santana!” Brittany teases.

“I swear to god, Brittany, if I get nightmares from this,” Santana threatens toothlessly. 

Brittany just giggles and tugs Santana down to the couch with ease. She falls onto Brittany and instantly softens and sighs in contentment as Brittany wraps both her arms tightly around Santana and draws her further into her embrace, nuzzling into Santana’s hair until she can kiss her forehead.“I’ll chase the nightmares away,” she promises. Santana’s breath hitches and she presses a kiss to Brittany’s collarbone, making Brittany’s skin burst into burning goosebumps at the feel of Santana’s soft lips on her skin. 

“You better,” Santana mumbles into Brittany’s neck, waiting until Brittany reaches for the remote to play the movie before she nuzzles herself as close to Brittany as she can and still see the television. 

Brittany thinks her heart might just burst from loving Santana so much.

* * *

They fall asleep sometime in the middle of _Gremlins_ , waking up hours later to the twinkling Christmas lights against the night sky Brittany can see through the window, the television having automatically turned itself off after so long.

Brittany trails her fingers along Santana’s back and sides, drawing swirling patterns into the warm body above her with just enough pressure to gently wake Santana, who just cuddles further into Brittany instead of waking fully.

“We’re real party animals,” Brittany teases.

Santana grunts and nuzzles her nose into Brittany’s neck. “Saving it for New Year’s,” she grumbles.

Brittany laughs and feels a smile curl against her neck in response. They lay there for a couple more minutes until Santana finally emerges from Brittany’s neck, propping herself up on one elbow, the blanket falling from her shoulders, and glancing across the living room before gazing down at Brittany with the softest look on her face.

“Hi,” Brittany murmurs.

Santana’s eyes are liquid and dark and basically hold the secrets to the entire universe. “Hi,” she whispers, nodding her jaw towards the television with a small smile but not dropping her gaze from Brittany’s, “It’s eleven-eleven. Make a wish.”

Brittany glances to the side and sees the bright red time glowing on the television box thing that she never remembers the name of. She smiles and closes her eyes, wishing for the one thing she wants more than anything, the only thing she’s wanted all month.

“Did you make your wish?” Brittany asks after long moments of silence, her eyes still closed and her body feeling Santana along it even better with her lack of sight. Santana hums in acknowledgement and Brittany smiles blindly. “Good,” she whispers, “I hope it comes true.”

“Oh, I have a feeling it definitely will,” Santana murmurs, and the feeling of her thumb brushing along her cheek finally draws Brittany’s eyes open, fluttering at the sensation.

“Mine too,” Brittany whispers.

“Oh yeah?”

Brittany nods slowly, one hand stilling against the small of Santana’s back and the other one sliding along her shoulders under waves of dark hair, her fingers almost brushing the nape of Santana’s neck as Santana sighs and tilts her head down a little.

Santana’s face hovers a scant few inches above her own, the lights from the Christmas tree painting her skin in splotches of faint blue and red and green. One of Santana’s hands curls against the fabric of Brittany’s t-shirt, plucking and worrying the fabric between her fingers, her eyes caught on the peak of Brittany’s cheek but not actually meeting blue eyes.

“You’re nervous to kiss me,” Brittany realizes.

“I mean— Kinda?” Santana says sheepishly, “Not like _nervous_ nervous but like— I mean we’ve literally been trying for forever and every time we do we get interrupted and now I’m worried that we’ll keep getting interrupted or it won’t be—”

And then—

Then Brittany slides her hand a little further up and guides Santana’s lips to her own, her rambling cut off by the gentle pressure of Brittany’s mouth moving slowly against hers. Santana’s lips part under Brittany’s and she lets out this breathy sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s soul trembles with the weight of Santana’s lips against hers. Santana tastes faintly of chocolate, but something sweeter and deeper, and she tastes of summer nights on the west coast, bright and warm.

She tastes like home.

Santana’s fingers trail across her face as she presses closer, and Brittany feels both steady and like she’s about to float away, like everything over the past week, over the past mouth—probably over her entire life—has built towards this moment, like this is exactly what she was made to do. Santana’s lips move against hers with all the time in the world, like they’re stuck in a traffic jam with nowhere else to go, her lips soft and pliant against Brittany’s, eyelashes fluttering against the peak of her cheek, noses nudging together, and Brittany smiles into the kiss because this—

This is everything that Brittany’s been looking for her entire life.

She pulls back just far enough to press their foreheads together so she can try and breathe properly, but with Santana’s nose still nuzzling against hers that proves impossible. “Are you still nervous?” she whispers.

Santana doesn’t answer, she just uses the hand on Brittany’s jaw to guide their lips back together, and then they’re both smiling into the kiss, too wide for it to be anything more than all teeth and no finesse. Brittany lets her hand drift from the small of Santana’s back and start to wander her body under the blanket, the other playing with the baby fine hairs at the back of Santana’s neck.

Santana lets out a fluttery little sigh into Brittany’s mouth and Brittany can’t help but press up to kiss her harder again, and again, and again, and again—

* * *

When Brittany wakes up hours later in her bed, it’s to Santana drawing hearts on her bare stomach. Her fingers are light and soft against her skin and Brittany’s breath hitches; there’s no intent behind Santana’s touch, she doesn’t skate her fingers suggestively lower or higher, she just trails her fingers across Brittany’s skin with quiet marvel, and it jolts something in Brittany. No one’s ever touched her just for the sake of touching her and mapping her body before, just to connect the freckles and moles sprinkled across her torso into constellations, just to map each scar and imperfection that puckers her skin.

No one’s ever touched her just to learn every inch of her skin against their fingertips.

Santana realizes that Brittany is awake when the hand Brittany has curled over her waist starts lazily scratching at the soft skin there. She turns her head up towards Brittany and, even in the dim of the middle of the night, she can see the softness to Santana’s smile, the shadow of a dimple in her cheek, the love shining in her eyes, and something buzzing and warm tugs low in Brittany’s stomach as she falls in love with Santana all over again.

“Hi,” she whispers.

Santana’s smile widens a little. “Hi.”

“Merry Christmas,” Brittany says, reaching a hand up to tuck a strand of dark hair back behind Santana’s ear. She’s not sure exactly what time it is, but by the time they managed to untangle and stop kissing long enough to pull themselves up off the couch and stumble down the hall, the bright red time glowing on the television box thing had read _12:34_.

Santana smiles and nuzzles into the hand that cups her jaw. “Merry Christmas,” she returns quietly. 

Brittany leans up to press a soft, probing kiss to Santana’s lips, chaste and intimate all at once. “So did your wish come true?” she asks as she falls back to the pillow.

Santana nods and her smile loses its softness and takes on that playfully teasing look Brittany so adores. “Well, I wished that we would _finally_ actually get to kiss without being interrupted, and, well,” she drags her hand down the bare skin of Brittany’s ribs to make her point and they both burst into laughter, Santana’s head dropping down to Brittany’s shoulder as they giggle. She presses a lingering kiss to the soft skin there and Brittany’s breath hitches as Santana props herself back up on her elbow, her other hand trailing circles on Brittany’s hip, and smiles softly at her. “What about you?” Santana whispers, “Did your wish come true?”

Brittany softens until she feels like she might melt right through her bed at the sweetness to Santana’s expression. She takes a moment to trace a heart on Santana’s hip before she smiles up at Santana. “Yeah, it did.” 

Santana trails her hand up Brittany’s torso, skating her fingers against her breastbone and dipping into the hollow of her collarbone before she reaches Brittany’s face and cups her jaw, leaving a trail of buzzing heat in her wake. She leans down to press the softest of kisses to the corner of Brittany’s mouth and Brittany’s pretty sure her soul trembles at the contact. Santana draws back just barely enough to speak, her half-lidded eyes softening and the very tips of her lips brushing against Brittany’s chin as she speaks. “What was it?” she whispers.

Brittany just tilts her head up to press their lips together, both of them sighing at the contact. 

“You,” she breathes, “Just you.”


	25. how have we missed out on all of these years?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Santana wakes up happier than she’s ever been; Brittany asks a very important question and learns how to make cinnamon buns in the process.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so I can’t believe I made it All the Way to the 25th of December and all the way to the 25th chapter?? I’m so exhausted but also so shook I made it?? I wanna say thank you to everyone who commented because they all mean the world to me and kept me going all the way through, especially those days at the end of last week when I was So Insanely Busy ~~and may have been awake for over 24 hours at one point~~
> 
> I wanted to mention that I will probably be taking a short hiatus from writing (or at least posting) for a couple weeks because I’m exhausted lmao. I’ve written so much lately that I think all my words have Disappeared for a while lol. It won’t be indefinite or anything, and who knows when inspiration will strike again, but I am in serious need of a break between the creative exhaustion from this fic and school.
> 
> But! Once again, thank you for the response! This was the very first time I ever did anything like this before, both as a long, plotted out fic and as posting a chapter a day and, honestly, I’m actually pretty proud of myself for actually getting it done!
> 
> So Merry Christmas and thanks for reading!!!

_I wrote a note. Saying that when two people fall in love, they do so at the same speed. There’s no need to factor in the physics. Explanations are something we can make no use of. Einstein once wrote, “Gravity will not be held responsible for people falling in love.” I wrote a note saying “If I fall in love with you, no one will ever be able to explain it, and I think that’s beautiful.”_

“Tomatoes” by Shane Koyzcan

* * *

Santana wakes up slowly, warm and comfortable with a beam of sunlight inches from her nose, turning blonde hair to gold. They haven’t moved much from last night, Brittany still sprawled on her back with both arms wrapped loosely but securely around Santana, and Santana nuzzled into the space between Brittany’s neck and shoulder, one arm curled beneath Brittany’s back and more than a little numb and her other thrown over Brittany’s waist, their legs hopelessly tangled under the blankets.

She has no clue what time it is other than that fact that it’s morning, the sunlight shining in through the cracks in the blinds and slanting across the bedding, brightening the pale yellow of Brittany’s sheets. Santana shifts around a little, pulling herself up onto the pillow, her skin buzzing where it presses to Brittany’s, until she can lay her head beside Brittany; she’s bed-warm and smiling a little in her sleep, her lips parted and blushed pink. Santana props herself up on her elbow—ignoring the faint sensation of pins and needles as her arm wakes up—and lifts her other hand to trail her fingers over Brittany’s face with a featherlight touch, barely enough to cause Brittany to even stir.

She draws constellations with the spattering of faint freckles on Brittany’s nose and tucked in the corners of her eyes, she admires how the amber-coloured roots of Brittany’s lashes turn almost honey in the sunbeam stretching across her face, she carefully brushes tangled blonde hair back behind Brittany’s ears and ghosts her fingers along the shell them, she runs her thumb over the peak of Brittany’s pale cheek just to watch her brows furrow; and then, when she can’t resist anymore, she leans down to kiss away the furrow. She trails butterfly kisses down the length of a nose, across a cheek, and then down the line of a jaw. She presses a kiss to that tiny freckle tucked at the corner of her mouth, the one that always hides in Brittany’s smiles during the day, before she shifts a little to the side to press her lips fully to Brittany’s. 

Brittany doesn’t move for a moment, but she starts to stir as Santana’s lips move against hers, humming into the kiss until it buzzes against Santana’s lips. Fingers start to scratch lazily at the sensitive skin of Santana’s waist and she shivers as Brittany’s electric touch wracks her body.

She only pulls away when she realizes that she should probably breathe soon, and Brittany whines at the loss of contact. Santana giggles and presses a close-mouthed kiss to her lips to pacify her, lingering a little when Brittany sighs against her.

“Merry Christmas,” Santana whispers as she pulls back, propped up on her elbows so she can cup Brittany’s face in her palms, running her thumbs along Brittany’s cheeks and marvelling at how soft and smooth her skin is, delighting in how her eyelashes flutter at the sensation.

“Mur’ Chris’ma,” Brittany mumbles, blindly tilting her chin up and searching for Santana’s lips again, not even bothering to crack her eyes open. Santana giggles and watches Brittany search for long moments before finally leaning down and kissing her pout away; Brittany is about as much as a morning person as Santana herself is, but Santana’s constant grumpiness before her morning coffee dissipated as soon as she felt Brittany’s heartbeat against her cheek,steady puffs of breath tickling the top of her head, bare skin warm and soft against her own.

Santana leans her forehead against Brittany’s and smiles softly, waiting until her eyes flutter open, just soaking in the feeling of falling in love with Brittany all over again as blue eyes meet hers, sleepy and warm, the tiniest flecks of gold surrounding her pupils, cobalt streaking through cerulean like forks of lightning.

Santana’s never seen anything more beautiful in her life, and she can do little more than tilt her chin down to rain kisses on thin pink lips that curl up into a wide smile under her ministrations. 

Santana sighs and nuzzles her nose into Brittany’s, just breathing her in for long moments; the air around them smells of honeysuckle and vanilla and citrus and jasmine and something sharp and heady and warm. Brittany’s lips purse to press a kiss against her cheek and Santana smiles, sliding her arms under Brittany until she can wrap even more tightly around her and sink into her embrace.

“I love you,” Brittany breathes against her cheek, and Santana’s heart thuds heavily as she cuddles closer, nuzzling her nose against Brittany’s and sighing into her mouth as their lips find each other.

Brittany kisses her, long and deep and open, not even giving her a chance to respond. Santana just sinks into the feeling, one of Brittany’s hands drawing slow patterns across her back and the other one cupping her jaw and guiding Santana’s mouth against hers until every thought in Santana’s mind has disappeared and she falls into Brittany.

Brittany keeps making these airy little sighs against Santana’s lips and her spine melts at the sound until she’s bonelessly draped over Brittany, molding their bodies together. Lips trail from her mouth across her chin and up her cheek to scatter butterfly pecks across her nose to her other cheek. “I love you too,” Santana finally manages to gasp in answer, now that Brittany’s stopped her welcome assault on her lips and she can string two thoughts together again.

Brittany pulls back a little and stares, wide-eyed and hopeful, up at Santana. “Really?” she asks breathlessly.

Santana giggles and shakes her head, kissing Brittany until she can’t breathe any more, drawing back to press lingering kisses along Brittany’s jaw instead until she locates her ear. “I love you,” she whispers before planting a sucking kiss behind Brittany’s earlobe, just to feel her shiver, her hands stuttering as they trail along Santana’s back.

Brittany sucks in an unsteady breath as Santana trails her lips down Brittany’s neck and across to her collarbone, dipping her tongue into the hollow and moving onto the other one, repeating her motions back up Brittany’s neck until she finds her other ear. “I love you,” she whispers again, trailing her kisses back to Brittany’s mouth.

Brittany’s breathing is unsteady and her hands tremble a little as they reach up to keep Santana’s lips pressed against hers until Santana’s own breathing come in little pants and she’s shivering in Brittany’s arms.

“I love you too,” Brittany breathes, and as good as it felt to say it, it feels even better to hear it.

She feels like everything good in the world is sprawled on the bed beneath her, like everything she’s ever wanted is right at her fingertips, and she doesn’t want to ever lose it, so she just kisses her love into Brittany’s mouth, knowing that Brittany’s doing the exact same thing. 

Brittany hums against her lips and smiles into the kiss, her hands roaming Santana’s back with increasing intent and decreasing innocence, and they don’t bother with the outside world for a long time.

* * *

They eventually crawl out of bed and into some shirts Brittany finds, hers an old button up she’s repurposed as a sleep shirt for years and Santana in festively red plaid. They find clean underwear, Brittany from her dresser and Santana from her overnight bag, and when Santana sees that Brittany’s panties are bright red with little nutcrackers all over them she has no option but to push her up against the dresser and kiss her hard.

Eventually they make it to the bathroom to brush their teeth side by side, both of them smiling so wide at each other in the mirror that foam drips to their chin, and then they’re giggling too hard to do anything more than clumsily wipe toothpaste from the other’s chin.

They wander into the kitchen and Santana rifles through cupboards until she finds mugs for coffee while Brittany fiddles around with the bluetooth on her phone and the speaker on the kitchen island until whatever Spotify Christmas playlist that’s first in the results is crooning through the apartment. 

Santana yawns as she waits for the coffee to finish, smiling and sinking back into Brittany’s embrace as two arms wrap around her waist and a pair of soft lips find the apple of her cheek, lingering there for a long moment while Santana quickly switches the mugs and starts the next coffee.

“So,” Brittany drawls once the next coffee is brewing, and Santana can tell she has a question on the tip of her tongue, so she just waits patiently and brings her hands to tangle with Brittany’s against her stomach. “I was wondering something.”

Santana just hums in acknowledgement, and in the silence she can feel Brittany’s heart pound quick and heavy against her back. 

“I love you,” Brittany starts, and Santana doesn’t even bother to try and hide the wide grin that curls her lips at the words, and she earns a kiss directly on her right dimple for her trouble, “And you love me, so— Are we— You know?”

Santana thinks she might know what Brittany’s asking but she can’t help to smile and tease her a little bit. “In love with each other? Yep, that just about sums it up.”

“No,” Brittany whines, knowing she’s being teased but not really upset about it, which Santana knows because she giggles and feels a smile against her jaw. Brittany’s lips purse to kiss the skin before she drops her chin to Santana’s shoulder.

Santana gasps. “No?” she asks with mock incredulity.

“No,” Brittany pouts, and Santana finally grins and lets up on her teasing, turning to press a kiss to Brittany’s cheek until she feels it bunch with a smile under her lips. “I meant, are you my girlfriend now?”

Despite expecting the question, nothing prepares Santana for the wave of pure happiness and love that floods her at that question, that idea, that concept, the idea of being Brittany’s _girlfriend_ is more than she could ever hope for. “I would be disappointed if I wasn’t,” she says, and the smile in her voice is obvious even to her.

“So we’re girlfriends then?” Brittany clarifies, unable to stop herself from bouncing in place a little, jolting their bodies.

Santana’s heart melts right out of her chest and she can do nothing more than sigh her “ _Yes._ ”

“Score!” Brittany cheers right before she spins Santana around and pins her against the counter to seal their lips together, Brittany’s tongue immediately slipping into Santana’s mouth.

Their coffee is cold by the time they break apart, but they just giggle and kiss again and again and—

* * *

Brittany microwaves both of their coffees while Santana hunts for the creamer in the fridge, passing it to Brittany before she starts pulling out all kinds of ingredients for breakfast—or more like brunch, she realizes after a quick glance at the clock on the stove—and setting them on the kitchen island while Brittany finishes off making their coffees.

They had decided to make cinnamon buns last night at the grocery store; the last time Santana made them was with her mom, but she remembers the recipe like the back of her hand. Baking had always been something just for her and her mom, something they could do together that no one could take away, and every Christmas morning Santana remembers her mom waking her up—carrying her down to the kitchen when she was really young and poking and prodding her out of bed when she was a teenager—so they could bake cinnamon buns together.

Brittany takes her usual position as an assistant chief and hands Santana bowls and ingredients, and if Santana closes her eyes it almost feels like her mom is standing on her other side and guiding her movements like she used. It aches sharply and deeply in her chest but Brittany’s warmth against her side replaces it with a soft nostalgia as she thinks of all the Christmas mornings she had with her mom instead of the ones she lost.

Brittany’s patient and tender and attentive while Santana narrates the recipe as they make the cinnamon buns, equally curious about what the yeast does as she is about the year Santana put a tablespoon of salt in to the bowl instead of a teaspoon. She treats each story about Santana’s mom like a gift, tucking every single one carefully away and kissing Santana’s cheek whenever Santana’s chest starts to ache with pain, somehow just knowing when Santana needs to feel Brittany’s comforting warmth against her.

Santana’s sadness starts to fade as they clean up, the dough rising on the counter and the filling already mixed together. They stand side by side at the sink, Santana washing and Brittany drying, and before long Santana has bubbles in her hair and Brittany has them trailing down her arm and into the sleeve of her shirt and they’re wrapped up in each other again, ignoring the bubbles and water on the floor from their impromptu bubble fight.

Santana knows that while she has so many Christmases ahead of her without her mom and that it will probably always ache a little, she also has so many Christmases ahead of her with the goofy, sweet, brilliant, snarky, loving blonde in her arms, and that makes her heart bloom with so much love and hope that she kisses Brittany just to release it before she combusts; instead it just makes the feeling bloom even more.

* * *

While the cinnamon buns rise, they cuddle on the couch with their coffees and watch awful and cheesy Hallmark movies with essentially all the same plot, giggling as they’re able to predict every single plot point before it happens. Brittany answers some texts from her mom—telling them to call her in a couple hours after they’ve managed to get her sister out of bed and opened their presents—and sending a couple _Merry Christmases_ to Mercedes and Sam while Santana does the same to Tina and Mike.

It’s the Facebook messenger notification that catches Santana’s attention, and she frowns at her phone for a second before opening the app and gasping at the message there. Brittany startles a little and turns to look at Santana, her eyes dropping to Santana’s phone and her arm tightening around Santana’s shoulders, tugging her into her body.

Santana stares at the message preview before finally clicking on the message. There's more than one message, all sent within a couple minutes of each other and she smiles tearily at the thought of her abuela's slow, halting typing; her arthritic fingers never could work a keyboard too well.

She knows Brittany's reading over her shoulder but trying to be subtle about it, so Santana just adjusts herself a little and holds up her phone so they can both read, turning her head to press a soothing kiss to Brittany's bicep as she feels her hesitate again, waiting until Brittany finally tucks her head in against Santana's as they read her abuela's words.

Santana rereads the messages about four times before they finally start to sink in, before she realizes that this is why her abuela sent that friend request after all these years of silence. The first message reads _Merry Christmas_ , followed a couple minutes later by _I know I hurt you so long ago but by the time I realized my mistake it was far too late and your mother’s number no longer worked. Gabriel helped me find you on Facebook a couple months ago but I only worked up the nerve to send this today._

“Gabriel?” Brittany asks softly.

“My cousin— The one that was cool with me being gay,” Santana explains.

Brittany makes a small sound of acknowledgement and kisses Santana on the forehead before turning back to the phone. _Family is the most important thing in the world_ , the next message reads, _and I have not acted like one to you. I was wrong but I was scared and narrow-minded and I am sorry for how I treated you._ Brittany nuzzles her nose against Santana’s temple as Santana takes a shaky breath. She smiles up at Brittany and kisses the underside of Brittany’s jaw; she’s okay, she thinks, because this is more than she could ever ask for, it’s just a lot to take in after so many years of bitterness and sadness and she’s a little overwhelmed, only calming as Brittany’s fingers trail over her arm. _If you do not respond I understand but_ _I love you Santana and I know I do not deserve it but I do not want to miss out on anything else in your life. I have missed you so much._

Santana sighs and sinks back into Brittany’s arms, reading the messages one last time before exiting out of the app. Brittany nuzzles against Santana’s ear and kisses her cheek. “So,” she says quietly, “What do you want to do?”

Santana smiles a little and opens her Facebook app, clicking on the friend request tab and only hesitating a moment before accepting her abuela’s request.

Brittany smiles and kisses Santana's cheek again and something in Santana's chest starts to heal, the double ache of her abuela's estrangement and her mom's death starting to ease. She smiles and turns in Brittany's arms so their stomachs are pressed together, propping her hands on Brittany's chest and resting her chin on top of them. "Hey," she says.

Brittany's smile widens and she reaches up to tuck dark hair behind Santana's ear. "Hi," she giggles.

“I love you,” Santana says, simple and honest. Apparently having said it once opened a floodgate and she finds that she’s addicted to the way the words feel in her mouth, to the way Brittany’s eyes soften and light up all at the same time whenever she says them, to the way she can’t stop smiling when Brittany says them in return.

“I love you too,” Brittany whispers, and Santana leans up to kiss her until they’re both breathless and warm and the timer on Santana’s phone is going off. They reluctantly untangle themselves and head back to the kitchen to shape cinnamon buns on baking sheets and shove them in the oven to bake, crouching down to watch them for a moment.

“I haven’t made these in a really long time,” Santana warns as they peer into the oven. 

Brittany leans over, just a little wobbly from where she’s crouched, and kisses Santana on the cheek. “I’ll still eat them even if they’re burnt to a crisp,” she says earnestly.

Santana giggles and reaches up to tug on the collar of Brittany’s shirt until she falls forwards onto her knees and her lips end up on Santana’s mouth. She gasps at the move and Santana takes the opportunity to slip her tongue into Brittany’s mouth, humming as Brittany presses even closer. She ends up flat on her ass, Brittany hovering over her and smothering her giggles against Santana’s lips. Santana nips at Brittany’s bottom lip and slips her fingers under the collar of Brittany’s shirt and Brittany’s laughter turns into a muffled moan.

Santana smirks against Brittany’s lips and kisses her harder.

* * *

They’re just finishing off eating their cinnamon buns, Brittany leaning against the arm of the couch and Santana leaning against her, sharing one plate balanced on Santana’s knees, when Brittany’s phone rings. She quickly shoves the last bite in her mouth and snags her phone off the coffee table, hitting the speakerphone button as she answers and mumbling her “Hello?” around the mouthful of food she’s still chewing on.

“ _Sweetie! Merry Christmas!_ ” Whitney Pierce cheers loudly, sounding a little bit like she’s actually in the living room with them, her husband and other daughter’s voices faintly chiming in too. One thing Santana learned about Brittany’s mom over the last week is that Whitney really does not understand the meaning of an inside voice.

Brittany mumbles her greeting back, but her incoherence due to her still chewing on her mouthful of cinnamon bun is lost to Whitney’s rambling. Brittany mumbles something in answer to one of her mom’s questions and Whitney finally clues in and asks Brittany what she’s eating.

Brittany responds with something that Santana only knows means _cinnamon buns_ because she watched her shove it in her mouth.

“ _Sorry, we don’t speak mumbling dork_ ,” Brittany’s sister teases. Santana smirks and quickly sits up to place the empty plate on the coffee table before she drops her head back to Brittany’s shoulder, shifting around until she can actually watch Brittany as she talks.

“Sorry,” Brittany says once she’s finally swallowed her food, “Cinnamon buns.”

“ _Ooh,_ ” Whitney coos, “ _Treating yourself today?_ ”

“Something like that,” Brittany agrees before winking at Santana, who rolls her eyes and acts like she’s not completely charmed by Brittany at any and all times. Brittany laughs quietly, absently agreeing to whatever her mom is saying and instead tucking her phone against her other shoulder so she can wrap both arms tightly around Santana.

They talk about the presents Brittany’s parents and sister got, exchanging _thank yous_ and _you’re welcomes_. Brittany’s family had brought their presents for her to New York with them for her to open, but Brittany’s presents for them had been completely forgotten at the top of Whitney and Pierce’s closet, which they only realized after they boarded the plane. They’re just about to go help Brittany’s grandma with supper now that gifts are all opened, Brittany’s huge collection of aunts and uncles and cousins and whatever other strays they find means that cooking Christmas Supper is an endeavour that starts before seven in the morning and continues throughout the day as family members wander in and out of the kitchen, sources of assistance and hinderance in equal measure.

“ _I wish you were here, sweetheart,_ ” Whitney says and Santana can hear the pout in her voice, “ _instead of all the way across the country all alone_.”

“I wish I was there too,” Brittany says, and then takes a deep breath and tightens her arms around Santana, who is still reclining back against her chest, her hips tucked securely between Brittany’s thighs, “But I’m not actually alone.” Santana smiles softly and Brittany quickly presses a kiss to her nose, grinning and pressing another one there when it scrunches up at the feeling.

“ _Oh?_ ” Whitney says, “ _Did Mercedes not go up to see her parents last night then?_ ”

“Nope,” Brittany singsongs, smiling softly at Santana and Santana feels her heart swell at the open look of love and adoration on her face, “My girlfriend’s with me.”

There’s a long beat of silence, and then all Santana can hear over the phone is shrieking and laughing and _I knew its!_ as the Pierces all talk at once and Brittany’s phone speaker briefly screeches at all the loud input.

Brittany and Santana just smile at each other and start answering questions.

* * *

They spend the rest of the day lounging around the house and cuddling, kissing to a backdrop of cheesy Christmas movies and Christmas tree lights, hands wandering and learning each other’s bodies—both innocently and not so innocently—on the couch and in Brittany’s bed and in the shower as the sun starts to sink back behind the tall buildings around the apartment and then, eventually, behind the horizon. They find a place still open for delivery and order supper, reluctantly getting dressed in more than sleep shirts and underwear just long enough to answer the door. They eat sitting on the floor of the living room, their backs against the couch, and watch another cheesy Hallmark movie and bet on who can best guess the next plot point, using kisses as bargaining chips, so they actually both end up winning anyways.

They cuddle on the couch until they fall asleep and wake up in the middle of a different movie with no idea how many hours have passed. Santana turns off the television while Brittany checks that the door is locked and turns lights off as they stumble back down the hallway to Brittany’s bedroom, onlystopping on the way to brush their teeth. 

Santana crawls into bed and Brittany closes her blinds and shuts off the lamp on her bedside table before crawling under the covers too. Santana immediately cuddles close, their arms draping over each other and their legs tangling together.

“Merry Christmas,” Brittany says and presses her lips softly to Santana’s, smiling into the kiss until she draws back a little, “I love you.”

Santana sighs and chases after Brittany’s lips, mumbling her “I love you too” and “Merry Christmas” into Brittany’s mouth. 

They keep kissing until they’re relaxed and sleepy, and finally Brittany pulls back a little to yawn. “Do you have anywhere to be tomorrow?” she asks quietly.

“Nope,” Santana smiles and shakes her head, nuzzling herself further into Brittany’s embrace until there’s no space between them, their foreheads pressed against each other and their noses squashed together, Santana’s lips brushing against Brittany’s and their arms tightening around each other, “Just right here, with you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don't actually know how big of a production George Balachine's _The Nutcracker_ is, so I took some artistic liberties with the backstage crew. Like some Big Productions will have a production stage manager and then assistant stage managers who run the stage wings and the call desk, and then a team of stagehands, so we're going to pretend that this version of _The Nutcracker_ is that Big because actually finding that info is Hard. Also some shows have a Cast A and a Cast B, but George Balachine's version doesn't Seem to from what I found online, plus working that into the fic would have disrupted the story I wanted to tell so I just assumed that there's only one cast.


End file.
